Butterflies
by Nicolesque
Summary: A/U - Bulma is a home journalist who falls upon a mansion that she inherited from her dead parents. Finally, she is able to unlock her vague, orphaned past, but with a strange gardener and a deadly evil, will she even survive long enough to ? B/V FINALE
1. Crash

Infamously outspoken journalist Bulma Briefs walks up to the old, decayed building that looked as if it had been build centuries ago. It was dark and creepy, sending shivers up her spine with every glance. She didn't like how the wind seemed to eerily lure her glance to it, like a bad automobile accident.

"Are....Are you sure I have the right house?" She asked the agent, who appeared next to her with his clipboard and pen.

"Yep. That was the Briefs'."

"But...Isn't it a little old?"

"No. They were just...old-fashioned. You know old people," He replied with a shrug as he went up the old stairs.

Pursing her lips and pushing away the doubts in her mind, she went up to the cracked, woody stairs herself. He opened the door for her before following close behind her. Inhaling dust, she walked in slowly, her eyes newborn and wandering to the mansion's greeting area in front of her.

"This was the greeting area," the agent voiced,"Where many guests were greeted, hence the title. Your parents were prone to throw parties, the citizens said."

She was silent as she looked around, wishing she knew what he was talking about. Her parents were very disclosed people, not anti-social, just uninterested in social gatherings. Her father was a painter, very focused on his work. Her mother was at first a model, but then a housewife when Bulma was born. Neither were very social.

Then they went up the stairs, which went two seperate ways at the top. He took her to the right hallway, where there were at least six doors. They went through each one, some Bulma could name, some she could barely see through the cobwebs and dust, nonetheless recognize.

The agent took her then to the left hallway. They entered a room of what looked like a child's playroom. A flashing light caught her eye, and she looked down instinctively, but only to find a mirror on the surface of a dresser.

Picking it up with curiousity, her mind's eye traveled back to a time when a reflection was a nightmare...

_"No! No! I don't wanna go with you!"_

_"Yes...Yes, you will. Start now. Start."_

_The glass crashed to the floor, ceramic colour flying everywhere, and all she could remember and feel were those colours piercing into her skin as she collapsed to the wooden attic floor._

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She went back over to the mansion the next morning. After the shaky flashback in the playroom, she was hesitant to return. But she did, because it fueled her to figure out that house, what it had to do with her. She wanted answers.

Instead of entering the house, she went out to the back where the courtyard and orchid were. A small smile played along her features at the peaceful surroundings, and she felt a sudden tweak of familiarity pull at her as her cerculean eyes swept along every bush and withered tree in the yard. She felt as if she had been there before, in another lifetime.

But she had have been there before. She grew up there.

Yet, she just couldn't find the memories to prove it. Nothing seemed to click.

Shaking her head to erase the confusion, she went back around to the front door. She put her hand through the rings to open it, but it wouldn't budge. That's when she noticed the lock. Rolling her eyes, she fished out the keys from her pocket. As she was doing that, a movement caught the corner of her eye.

She swung her head to where it was, but it had vanished. Her breath bunched into a ball in her throat when she realized that maybe seeing it two times ruled out the possibility of it being only her imagination...

Unlocking the door and going inside, she closed the molded door behind her. She ran up the stairs to the right hallway, her eyes flying to the set of stairs at the very end of it, that feeling of forbidden temptation filling her.

_"Hey, why aren't we going up there?" Bulma pointed to the stairs at the end of the hallway, and then looked back at the agent, who had lost the colour in his face._

_"That...is not a place we need to visit. But you must vow with the sake of your life held dearly to you, that you will NEVER enter that room, ."_

She knew that he was probably right, by the tone he had said it, as if he would lose his own life too if she went up there. But still, suriousity was a powerful force in a journalist such as Bulma. It always had been, that was why she had the job.

It took eleven steps to the attic stairs from the hallway, a nervous Bulma counted. She got to the front step, raised her foot and-

CRASH.

It was glass shattering downstairs, everywhere. The sound pierced her ears and her chest, slitting through what she had previously focused on. Without a second's hesitation, she ran downstairs and into the kitchen, which was just as gloomy as the rest of the mansion.

Her eyes suspiciously and cautiously wandered the room, especially on the floor. She found no glass there, so she went to the family room. And there it was. A picture frame in shambles on the dusty, wooden tile. She stopped before the glass mess, wanting nothing but to step away from it and call it the wind. But she couldn't.

She picked up the frame, and who she saw on it caused her heart to shatter inside her chest, even harder than the glass had.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I thought this would a good one to start around Halloween.

please r/r, since you can't send me candies over the internet xD

or ELSE: this will stay a cliffy

hehe

~Jckash03


	2. The First Attic

Rating: PG-13-Language, Mild Violence

'-thinking

"-speaking

_Italics represent vocal emphasis or memories._

* * *

She couldn't believe it. She didn't even remember being in this place at all, and here was her picture.

It must have been taken years ago, because she was very young in it. There was no date on the back, which only made her feel more shaken about it. She dropped the picture back on the floor and walked out, her chest trembling with each shaky breath.

Deciding it was enough for today, she went out of the decayed mansion and to her car. But before she could do so, a stranger approached her. An elderly woman with glasses that hung around her neck on a necklace walked her frail form up to Bulma, sincere curiosity in her eyes.

"Hello. You must be a relative. It's been a long time."

"Uh, yeah," She wasn't sure what to say as she shook the woman's frail, wrinkled hand.

"They were such good people. As rich as he was, would constantly donate around here. And his wife was such a great hostess. It's a shame they went so fast."

"Yeah, it is", Bulma looked down at the debris-covered ground, her fingers playing distracting games with each other.

"So, how are you dealing with this?" The woman blurted, pulling Bulma out of her awkward trance.

"Oh, fine. I didn't really know them that well. I was living in..." She stopped mid-sentence. She had no idea where she lived when they supposedly died.

"Oh, of course. I wouldn't want to recall such a bad event anyways, dear."

"But the weird thing is, I don't even remember them. Or this place," She gave a nervous laugh that died when she caught the lady's grim expression.

"Listen...I don't believe in the paranormal. But, if I were you, I'd be careful in this place. There's a lot of history in this building."

Bulma's eyes filled with surprise, and then question,"What? What happened?"

"Just know...to be careful."

"Look, I need to know. I can't even remember being here, and I need your help!"

The lady began walking away. Bulma sighed and put her hand on her head, looking again to the ground for comfort. When she looked up, the lady was gone.

* * *

The drive home was more self-questioning than self-answering to Bulma. All that filled her train of thought was the mirror, the portrait, and that eerie shadow that lurked around her every time she went to that house.

She got to her condo an hour later, her boyfriend's car parked beside hers. When she walked in, she put her coat on the rack and pecked his cheek, a ritualistic greeting for both of them.

"So, how's the house?"

"The same as it was yesterday. Dark, gloomy, and shady. It's gonna take the entire sun to fix it up."

"It will be fine," His favorite expression to use at every drop of the hat.

He exited the kitchen and went to the living room where a game was on the television. She automatically went to her office and typed up a story for her newspaper. It was about houses, and what to do with them when "inherited".

She typed for hours. By the time she was finished, it was already eleven at night. Yawning, she walked to their bedroom, where he was already sleeping. She went to her bathroom first, somehow avoided looking for wrinkles, and then went to bed herself.

* * *

The next trip to the house that morning was a rocky one due to the treacherous rain pouring down on her undeserving windshield, but she got there in an hour, right on time. Once out of the car, she raised her umbrella over her head and shuffled up the small but steep hill to the mansion's weak stairs. She vaguely wondered how long it would take before she fell through them.

A flash shot through her mind at the image of her falling through the stairs, as if she had thought of it before.

Her eyebrows burrowed in confusion,"But that is impossible. I've never even been here before to think about such things."

She shook her head to erase the imposing thoughts and practically threw herself through the doors, as if they would mend her confusion. They didn't.

She fixed her umbrella and put it under the arm of her coat. Her eyes automatically darted around the ceiling and the stairs, how shady they were. As strange as it was for such a luxurious house to be so gloomy, she actually found this eery comfort every time she walked in.

A sense of _home_.

She walked up the creaking stairs up to the right hallway, where that door was the first thing her eyes caught sight of. Bulma was a very curious person, question always driving her into obstacles that her mind could articulately create insightful visions of. That was being a journalist to her. And in being such an artifact, seeing this attic door closed was something she didn't find as permanent.

In fact, finding the door alone was a wondrous intrigue to her, the question echoed in her mind one by one, like the travelling raindrops outside. Her entire existence was one big question, as everyone's really was, but she had a problem in particular. She didn't have a question to direct her existence to.

Her feet absent-midedly got themselves to the door before she even realized it. And her hand gripped the rusty ring for a knob so gently she felt like a newborn finally grasping for its mother for the first time. She couldn't explain the purposeful feeling that had ballooned inside her in that moment, but it was real and she felt it. It excited her.

The agent's words of warning echoed in her mind as, but which was more demanding of her? Boundaries or risks?

With that liberating argument in her head like a spinning record, she pulled the doorknob to find stairs. Cold, solid stairs spiralling upward, just as the smirk on her face was doing then.

The room really looked nothing special. The opposite side of the room was a window instead of a wall, covered and fogged by the grey outside and the sad trails of cascading raindrops. The glass felt cold, as if it had never been touched by the warmth of a human hand. She didn't even remember walking to it and touching it, however she knew. Inside, she just knew.

Suddenly there was a chill in the room, another presence. Her head snapped up, and she tried to look out the corner of her eye, where she only saw that same shadow that had stalked her for the past two days in that gruesome house. She spun around to face it.

"Hey! What are you doing in my house? Why are you following me like some maniac?" Her eyes demanded answers at the man, who looked at her with a stoic expression that sent tingles down her spine.

"_Your_ home, you say?" he asked in a scratchy low voice of cold amusement, almost a whisper, before striding to her, inches from her face. She flinched at the suddenly small distance, the musky aroma rising from him.

"Y-Yes...I inherited it. It's mine," She argued in a shaky voice, her head tilting defensively.

"Hm. Guess what?" He asked slowly, a smirk flashing over his lips before disappearing again.

She waited.

He got even closer,"You don't live here anymore."

Then, as quickly as he got to her, he backed away to return to his spot against the wall, a few feet from the door, where her eyes were targeting,"I-I'm just gonna leave now."

With his eyes closed, his arm shot out with ease against the open door, shutting it so that its slam ebbed away into the high ceiling of the dark attic, despite the bright gray flowing in from the window. She just stood there, her face questioning and nervous at the same time.

"Why did you do that?" She asked him, still trembling softly.

He chuckled sardonically as he lit a cigarette, eyes still closed,"Why are you here?"

"This is my house. I may not reside here, but it's mine."

He said nothing after that, silence and smoke filling the still air between them as Bulma's mind went anxious over what the man could do to her in there. No one would hear her scream either, being a mile away from the nearest mansion.

With fear as her only source of energy, she quickly strode to the door, but he blocked it in lightening speed. That's when she took out the umbrella and swung at him, a swift thud echoed in the attic.

But the thud was not from where it hit him, it was from the umbrella hitting the inside of his hand, where he caught it. Her breath disappeared as he snatched it out of her grip, broke it in two, and threw it out towards the window. The umbrella fell only a few feet short of it, however. She just gave him a blank stare afterwards, speechless.

He sighed as he shook his head, taking a whiff of his cigarette. She decided that if he would do anything, he would have to get to her first. So she went to the opposite side of the room,where there were boxes and such stacked along the wall. She took off her coat, all the while not taking her cautious eyes off him.

There was another silence, but not awkward as she expected it to be,"So what are _you_ doing here?"

His eyes opened to hers at the question.

"Were you implying that you live here?"

He took in a breath,"I've been here since childhood. Taking care of the house."

She scoffed, slightly smiling,"Yeah. It looks really taken care of."

His eyes flashed at the remark, causing her smile to fade.

"Uh, I meant, it's pretty old so it must be difficult...?"

"Hm. I manage."

She nodded, her eyes falling to the wooden floor.

"Tell me, do you remember living here at all?"

She took in a deep breath,"Well, I must say... I don't. I thought I had the wrong house. One, it looked too old for my parents to have just died. And two, I've never seen it in my life. But since I got here, there have been these stupid flashes."

"Flashes," He repeated in a wistful voice with a child-like fascination as he smirked, "Of what? Memories?"

"Well not exactly. Among feelings of familiarity. They just strike my head when I think or touch something here. Like an object."

"Mirror."

"...Excuse me?"

He peered into her for a frightening second,"You're Bulma. Correct?"

She gave him a suspicious eye,"Yes..."

"Hm. I'm surprised you don't remember this place. Then again, I could understand why."

"What?"

"Have you spoken with any of the citizens yet?"

"Um, this one lady came up yesterday."

He nodded,"What did she tell you?"

"I don't recall. She just...After some small talk she gave me this weird look when I told her I didn't remember a thing about this house. Then she said something about ghosts and that I should be careful."

The stranger chuckled darkly again, flicking the butt of his finished cigarette to a dark corner of the attic.

"And the agent, he said to never come up here. I just don't see why."

He cleared his throat,"This isn't the attic he was speaking of, woman. This is the first attic. It's only used for storage."

"Really?"

"Precisely. You see, every big house like this has two attics. One that is obvious and boring, and then a hidden one that harbors the family's most valuable and secret items. But he doesn't know everything just because he's an agent."

"Do you know where it is?"

He gave her an amused and mischievous glance,"Do you?"

She shook her head.

"There you go."

Bulma proceeded to look in some of the boxes. All she found were jovial pictures of her parents, sometimes there were glimpses of her in the background but nothing else like the picture downstairs. When she decided that was enough past-glancing for the day she turned to ask the stranger to let her leave.

He was already gone, the door wide open, welcoming her exit.

Shaking her head she walked down the rusty stairs and out of the mansion's door. She felt a sense of deja'vu spread over her in a wave that nearly brought her to sleep. She shook it off and got to her car.

When finally home, she walked into the all too familiar setting; her boyfriend was cooking with the television on. This time it was the news. After the ritualistic peck on the cheek, she got to her office and typed on her house report. But not three hours later, she heard an imposing knock on the sacred door.

"Bulma," he called before opening the door.

"Yes," She almost hissed, not liking how he could just walk into her private surroundings like that.

"Uh...could you have dinner with me tonight?"

Her tense fingers immediately rested, her head falling a bit in surprise,"...Yes, I'll be there. In a few minutes, Yamcha."

She could sense his sincere smile from behind,"Great. And thanks."

"Sure," She replied in a shaky voice, not knowing why he was thanking her.

Was this her life? A dead, monotone procedure with only mere sparks of difference like this that kept her going? Maybe this mansion was more of a good thing than she had thought.

The dinner was good and she felt safe. She felt secure looking in his soft eyes that she could never forget or grow tired of. He had always been her shelter, but she wondered if it was too safe from the storms that really brought people together.

The conversations had been mostly about the house and her recent subject in writing. Yamcha, being a retired baseball player, did have a hard time understanding what she could find in such materials, but he nodded along anyway. Supporting her was something he could never forget to do.

They went to bed early, a decision based on a hefty amount of alcohol in their systems, which was drained out by a good session of stimuli that Yamcha concluded out loud was "too rarely done". Afterwards, as he was sleeping, Bulma thought back on how they could keep it alive without killing it. When they had started, it was all bliss and glitter. But that was it. Soon, it turned into glue, stuck and solid and could not be changed without it breaking.

That was what she was afraid of. Bruising it, having it leave just because she wanted it to stay. It was their relationship, a relationship that even she as a journalist couldn't begin to dazzle with words.

So she stopped trying. Right then in bed, she stopped completely, her fear choking her efforts.

And when she woke, the rain had started again.

* * *

Hee hee. Not exactly a cliffhanger but yea. Good enough for me. Review and tell me if there's any hope for this thing.

~Jckash03


	3. The Paint

Chapter Three-Relation pt 1

Rating: PG-13- thematic elements, language, etc.

'-thinking

-speaking

_Italics represent memories or vocal emphasis._

* * *

Sunlight poured into her consciousness, but she was already awake before it hit. Yamcha got out of bed only sixteen minutes later to go to is college job an hour and a half from their apartment. After he left, she had the house to herself again, so she went downstairs and made herself some coffee.

Sitting at the table with her hot mug in her hand, her eyes focused on the surface of the table, her mind slipping in and out. She would have watched TV if it didn't annoy her so damn much. It was just the trends, the shows, the way it only signified all saddening, maddening, darkening aspects of time, in and of itself. She didn't like time too much. There were never any clocks around the house besides the one next to the bed.

Finally, her eyes drifted to the front page of one of Yamcha's newspapers, which was just as bad as television, if not worse. But she couldn't bring her eyes away from the taunting headlines, her mind sub-consciously forming together the words and signaling bits of information to form an inference in the journalist's articulate perspective. But you couldn't help learning.

Learning was something you could never stop, but a task people find so difficult to do.

After gazing at this article and the next, she finally got bored and decided to take a shower before heading up to the house.

His eyes were narrow slits of confused accusation," You're early."

Her gaze was one of solemn unexpectedness, a bit taken back as well as questioning," How would you know?"

"Your car always pulls in at least an hour before eleven."

"So? Is it a crime to be early?"

He walked away, shaking his head as he mumbled things under his breath. He reminded her of one of those creepy gardeners that stick around the house even after the owners die. That was probably what he was.

They went outside to the garden, which was not much except a cabbage patch and a wilting line of what used to be tulips. The rest was just bushes lined up against the tall white fence that surrounded the thirty-five foot garden. Bulma remembered the day before when she saw it for the first time, it was much more animate than this, covered in orange and red autumn leaves, the only tree holding the same colored leaves as well. But now it seemed greener, and more tired. Then she noticed the dark blue shed, something that was not there the day before. The man took off into the mysterious shed, ducking under the tree's branches. She followed.

It was dark, the smell of gas and rust invading her nostrils. She couldn't help but feel as if she had been in that place, smelled that odor before, but she pushed it aside. She had no use for such childish feelings, they held no fact. Taking in a breath to eradicate the still swelling familiarity in her chest, her eyes started to wonder aimlessly, but with interest.

She could feel his intense stare on her," See anything familiar?"

"Yes...," She answered wistfully, wonder glazing over her cerulean eyes.

"What?"

"I-I...," She stammered, and then it suddenly rushed up to her.

_"You will paint! You will color for me... a pretty picture."_

_"No! I don't wanna go with you!"_

_"Paint! If you take your life in high regard, you WILL paint for me child!"_

Her breath was blown back into her as she returned to reality. At first her vision was fogged, her mind dazed. But then her fingers slowly traveled upwards toward the wall, where there were distinct paint marks. There was a lot of red, too much red...

"I painted. For the sake of my life, I painted."

He was silent, even when she gazed over at him with a question of understanding and curiosity, his eyes were silent. But she could hear the very deepest lamentations of his own past.

"You...You painted too, didn't you?"

His eyes snapped back to hers, a definite question of how much she was willing to take in. But she would take all that she was offered. If it meant she would find the core of this purposeless life, then she would take every shot, even if it was her last.

He looked away instead of answering her. She looked up again at the paint smears, thinking she caught sight of a fingerprint. When she looked back, he was gone.

She didn't run off out of the shed. She didn't run off after him even. She didn't even think of going after him at all. She knew, somehow, that this was a breath of oxygen for him, but he needed to make lung space to take it all in. He was not ready yet to change his status of being alone in a world of confusion and mystery and pain. She could see that clearly.

But those small paint smears and the echoes of past voices in her head did not erase the storm of questions in her hasteful mind. They only made more questions, if anything. Who was that cruel, vicious victimizer? Was that really her saying such defending words?

Was she really that assertive as a child?

Where had that child run off to?

Suddenly, Bulma's eyes ran over the grassy area, as if she would soon catch sight of her child self galloping up to her, and then Bulma would take the child in her arms and they would become one person again.

It was quite ironic, however. To wish to be someone you didn't even know anything about.

Her eyes closed briefly, the soft wind washing through her thick strands of aqua, back-length hair. She thought about getting it all cut, but then she would have no where to hide when she was typing at work. Why hide? Because that was the only action everything ever learned to do in her life. Her past hid from her, her future was either hiding or not making itself very clear, and every little truth that her desperate and lost soul desired more than anything was doing more than just hiding. Every little truth she needed was more and more convincing her that they were non-existent.

She hadn't the slightest idea who she was.

Her eyes fell shut when she realized that little lost girl wouldn't find her way back. She walked back into the house, putting her coat up on the rack when a framed picture caught her eye. It was a family portrait, her father and mother smiling, her own self too presenting a joyous grin, but there was one thing out of place about it. It seemed disproportionate, the entire thing. As if someone had managed to cut through the middle to get everyone's face in it. That's when she saw it, the small hand on her mother's shoulder.

Her eyebrows knitted in concentration as she tried to focus in, when suddenly there was a bang and the picture was on the floor and out of her hands. She turned to face the steaming stranger.

"What the hell?" Was all she could ask.

"You," He pointed at her, "Don't need to look at anything else here. You're time here is finished. Leave."

She grew bewildered, "I don't think so! This is MY house now. You may not be able to accept it, whoever you think you are, but it is MINE. I have a past I need to dig up, and if you don't like then find your way to the door!"

His gaze grew softer, but still sharp, "You're going to get yourself killed again."

His words shot through her like a bullet. Her eyes bolted wide as that word echoed through her, creating the soundtrack to her world as it collapsed from beneath her.

Her lips were dry as she felt her veins go cold,"...Again?"

His eyes were still as well, as if he caught himself right when it was too late. His arm reached out a bit, but her eyes stared straight ahead of her, empty and stunned.

"I...I ha-" She couldn't finish her meekly formed sentence as she numbly turned, slowly taking her coat up and putting it on, she could smell the coat, she could touch the coat, she could see the coat, she could hear the coat, she could taste the coat, but she could not-

_"Can you smell it, child? Can you see, taste, touch, hear, FEAR the paint child? Yes, you may not know this but they never found the sixth sense, it was all under their noses. They all had it but it was so strong they couldn't FEEL it. The sixth sense is fear. You humans strive to sense it, but when you do oh, all you want is out. To never FEEL it again. Now, you stroke child, stroke the fear away with that brush..."_

"I stroke...I stroked," Her lips repeated. He walked to her and tried to grab her wrists, but her eyes pierced his, and he couldn't believe how dead they were inside. Those dead eyes fell, just as his hand did as well. Then she was gone, and so was his hope of ever finding that one beautiful thing he had dreamed about since his own nightmare had occurred...

Someone to finally relate to in all of this mess.

When she got to the car, she found that she suddenly forgot how to move. Her arms looked pasty and thin, and she didn't even want to know what a mirror would see. Nonetheless, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands, making movements every now and then to drive it. Her keys swished in the ignition and she wondered if he'd come out here and say it was all a joke that she really was alive that she really had someone inside her that she could put her name on that all of this was really a sick insane joke played on her and it really reached her head and that he was very very sorry for putting her through this and the house was fake, the portrait was fake, the entire thing wasn't real.

It was all just a silly nightmare that he would push a big red button and she'd wake up out of soon, yes very soon.

She couldn't even produce tears at the terrible empty ache she felt…because she was empty herself. She wanted to scream, to tell the world to be thankful because they had no idea what all they had, to have a life, to have an identity, to feel oxygen moving through them every second in order for them to feel and share experiences with the people they loved, something they can call a life.

Something she didn't ever remember having.

Then she heard whimpering, she felt hands being pressed to her face, and beads of moisture running down her cheeks, and she only felt worse pain as there was a pressure on her chest while it wracked of sobs. Then she realized it was her. It was all her, only her .

She wanted to start over. She didn't want to go home to an empty Yamcha and an empty existence or whatever she had now that she was dead, she wanted to start at the beginning, so she could do a better job. So she could create memories, things to remember. She had none, as far as she knew.

She didn't know what the next move was. Soft pattering of rain had begun on her windshield, and it was only noon when she saw that the sunlight had vanished.

She needed answers before she did anything. She had questions first. If she was dead now, she'd make the most of it before…Before what? What happened next? She had no time to race against, being already dead, so…

She got out of the car and found her feet, striding up the steep hill up to the door. She pushed through them and looked around to see no one. The portrait she was inspecting earlier was no longer on the floor. She went up the stairs, and into the attic she had found him last time. He was staring out the window to where her car was.

She lingered at the doorway, not taking her eyes off of him as her eyes yelled out the questions. He glanced at her with a wary expectancy.

"What now?" Was all he could muster.

"I need answers. How am I alive if I'm dead? Why am I breathing?"

She walked closer to him, only a few feet between them. She continued as he gazed, still expectant.

"Who the HELL is the guy who made me paint?"

His eyes flashed with cold memory as he quickly gazed away from her. There was guilt in his expression, however, when he turned away. She caught it.

"Oh no…You're going to answer that one. If I'm going to cease to exist, I'm going to know why. And who, if that's the case as well."

He looked back at her," Listen. You aren't ready to handle this. And who said you were dead anyway?"

Confusion possessed her features as her eyebrows knitted slightly, "What? YOU told me I was dead. "

"I said again. That means you died once before."

"Oh wow. So I came back to life? What next? I was pregnant when I died too?"

His eyes narrowed, "Don't you get smart with me woman. I won't say a word."

She folded her arms and surrendered.

"Okay. Fine, you never really died. Look in that black box over there at the other side of the window."

She turned to see it waiting against the window as it glowed with gray raindrops. There was a torn out piece of parchment that they used for newspaper when she was younger, she supposed. Her heart dropped when she read the bold headline, her hand shaking as the words in the article came together to yet again form an idea that gushed out a stream of heart shattered tears down her pale cheeks. He watched her as she leaned sideways against the glass, its bright glow blanketing her features. He felt a tang of something when he realized that she was basically reflecting the window, her face bright and liquid neatly streaming down her face, clear as the raindrops falling down the glowing window of the mansion.

'Perhaps... she always was the heart of this house…'

He watched the parchment fall to the floor. His eyes snapped up as he caught her gaze of sadness and shock.

"They forgot me? They assumed I was dead…?"

He shook his head as he got the paper up and strode to her, a lesson in his eyes, "No. You went missing. For two months. You were six years old-"

"I know. I read that. My age has nothing to do with it, it's the damn fact that they lost hope in me. Kami, maybe I really wasn't all that much back then."

"Your parents didn't assume anything. It wasn't them…"

Her eyes drifted over to his, feeling a dark gloom approach her as his next words floated up to his lips with a grim inevitability, a terrible truth.

"They were dead."

* * *

Uh oh…Another dead ringer. Oooh lots of those in this fic, I have to say. A lot of death is involved.

I hope you're enjoying this piece of work. Now if you will express it in your review it will be much much appreciated. Sayonara.


	4. The Grace Of Time

Blah blah.

Rating for this Chapter: PG-13 - Language, Suspense, Thematic Elements.

'- thinking

"- speaking

_Italics represent flashbacks or vocal emphasis._

* * *

Her eyes widened as her gaze turned into one of horrified shock. Question after question flickered through her expression as he stared at her stoicly. Her eyes closed as she started to breathe through her nose. It was no wonder that she hadn't known anything of her past. Whoever it was that kept it from her was wise enough to know that she wouldn't want to hear it.

But she needed to. This was what defined her. Her past, which was one big question mark that was only beginning to clear up.

"I-Is that all...?" Came the trembling question that she didn't know if she wanted answered.

He sighed slightly,"Woman, I doubt you are ready for more. Come, we shall oversee the rest of the house..."

He then turned his back on her as he made for the door, her gaze dropping from him to the floor. Yes, she had gotten answers, but they were not the answers she had expected them to be. Such a dark, cold period in her life, yet she didn't even remember it. It was as if she was walking through the nightmare of a stranger.

"Woman."

Her eyes snapped up to his steel ones. Taking in a breath, she made her way towards the door, only to be greeted with the question in his solid, onyx eyes.

"Yes...I'm ready."

They walked through the house, a few creaks from the old floor accompanying them. Bulma saw frame after frame of people that she either didn't recognize or that she had forgotten. Vegeta explained that most were just the Briefs' close friends and business partners. She still had yet to see a picture of her grandparents, but then again there was alot that she needed to discover.

"This...Is the guest bedroom. Not very resided in much, but it still held your mother's personal things and it distracted her since it was another room to clean."

Her eyes wandered around as she walked to and from the room. The walls were a light blue, the bed bearing silk, silver quilts that radiated the room. Bulma went to the closet and found a few fur coats and some boxes full of cleaning supplies. Something square and wood in the corner caught her eye, however. She reached up, having to get on her tiptoes, and pulled it off of the shelf, nearly falling over because of the unexpected weight of it.

It turned out to be five differently sized that held modelling photos of what she assumed to be her mother. The shimmering blonde hair and the bright turquoise eyes that gleamed with exuberance and sensuality through each shot. Bulma thought it was a shame that her mother didn't pursue even more heights within the modelling career.

"My Kami... She's beautiful," Bulma wistfully wondered aloud as her fingertips brushed along the surface of the photograph. Suddenly, she looked up, her eyes snapping at his as his eyebrow kicked up slightly,"Do you know... why she quit?"

"Heh. Woman I don't know absolutely every damn detail of your parents' lives..."

Her hopeful expression fell as disappointment settled in her eyes, causing a look of guilt to nearly flicker through his as well.

"Well what DO you know about my mother?"

He folded his arms and leaned against the bedpost, his eyes drifted downward,"She was a very vibrant woman...An extraordinary hostess. Everyone was fond of her, especially the men..."

Bulma cast him an annoyed glance before he continued, a smirk kicking his lips up.

"She would showcase your father's artwork at certain functions. I think, by what I have overheard, that she quit modelling when you came along because she wanted to stay home with you throughout your childhood. She must've been quite deprived if she gave up modelling to give you a happy one like that...," He shrugged.

Bulma put the frames away back on the shelf, her eyes misted over with nostalgia and yearning. She also wondered what she would have done had she been a mother herself...

"Alright. That's all this room has to offer, I suppose. Let's go downstairs, please," Bulma suggested, pushing the thoughts away as she made for the door.

"I don't understand why you say please when you have even declared yourself that this is your house..."

She turned and gave him a sly look,"Because I have something called manners...And I am an extraordinary hostess, mind you."

They reached the old, creaking staircase in a tense silence, one being the tourist and the other being the guide. She still wasn't quite sure if she could trust him and all the information he offered, but at this point she would take anything and hold onto it like the truth. Her wide eyes never settled on one thing, however; every object and corner in the house seemed to hold a dark tale that fit into the puzzle of her childhood. She suddenly shook her head slightly, feeling absurd for taking this somewhat meaningless crusade so seriously.

"Don't get doubtful now, woman. This won't be an easy ordeal to put behind you if you so choose."

She took a breath as they went back into the living room where her portrait had fallen, seeing that it hadn't moved from its eerie place on the floor. She picked it off, brushing off the particles of frame from its content. Vegeta exchanged a look with her, continuing his explanation.

"I don't know when this was taken exactly, but I know there was a curse laid upon it."

She did a double-take,"A curse..?"

He nodded. "Do you not recall the morning you walked in here, and it collapsed to the floor?"

She grew still, then huffed and folded her arms, a look of insulted incredulity on her face,"Do you take me for an idiot, whoever you are?"

His eyes narrowed,"As a journalist of some sort, an open mind should be a pre-requisite."

"Oh, I have an open mind, just not a naive, superstitious one."

A silence grew between them, distrust finally surfacing its inevitable presence in the still air.

"Do I have to pay you a sum in order for the truth here? Is that what this is?"

Scoffing, he turned from her, and began to walk away before she protested vehemently.

"I didn't come here to be ignored!"

"And I have waited for you. This house has, too." He had stopped, his back to her as he halted time with this soft declaration.

She gulped, feeling a little stupid for her reaction,"What.. do you mean?"

"It will only take time for you to adjust your mind what is really awaiting you here. That is all."

With that, he walked away and vanished into some hall or whatnot. She stood there, oblivious to his whereabouts, and contemplated as she gazed over the fallen portrait of herself at the very young age she apparently was. Both dread and excitement fueled together to make some indescribable wave of determination to find who she really was, where she really was from. If not that, then just something to enlighten her existence somehow. Being a home analyst grew tiring, the search inside of her for whatever it was that she was looking for felt... over.

In that moment, she decided that this was it. There was no turning back from this enigma of a mansion and the history behind it.

But ghouls and goblins, monsters and evil... Those were things she wasn't sure if she was prepared for.

The next morning was a foggy one, the atmosphere surrounding the house feeling warped and solid at the same time. It was as if time was pausing itself just for her, to make it an endeavor not marked or limited by the curse of time. Time is usually man's enemy, but in Bulma's case, it became her saving grace as she stepped onto the cracked stairs entering the house. Before she even raised a fist to knock, he had opened it and peered at her with a vague anticipation.

"I'll do it. Whatever ghost story, or life-threatening Nancy Drew mystery is lurking in there... I just want you to know that I'm ready," She stated, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

He blinked,"As you wish."

As he turned away from her into the house, she cried,"Hey! Wait!"

Cocking an eyebrow, he turned to gaze at her once again.

"I didn't get your name."

With a scowl, he looked back and replied in his deep, velvet tone,"I never gave it."

She gave a sigh, deeming it a matter that would take time, and followed him into the house, stepping into the shadows of a world far different than the one she was living in.


	5. Black

I know this is taking me ubertime to get this one going, you can thank Control for taking all of my imagination fuel out of me!

But alas, this is the last update til 09

:)

'-thinking

"-speaking

_Italics represent flashbacks, vocal emphasis, or, in this chapter, those freaky things called dreams..._

_

* * *

_

_Blurry, gleaming waves of gold surrounded her as her eyes, wide and azure, looked around to capture exactly where she was. More so, who she was with. A frantic panic welled inside of her chest as nothing familiar met her eye, and every face seemed so distant and alien. Suddenly, she bumped into someone as white and black intruded her vision. _

_"Well? Watch where you're going, Princess!" Came a rude, raspy voice of someone obviously her age. She blinked as another voice, deep and scolding, boomed from the corner._

_"Vegeta! Watch how you speak to your masters!"_

_"Hmpf. No one as petty as her is any kind of master of mine...," He grumbled, in a low enough voice that the one who had yelled at him couldn't hear. He gave her a scalding glare before picking up the carrying tray he had dropped, and moved on to serving the guests who were at least two of him height-wise._

_"Oh she looks darling in her dress, doesn't she?" Came a high-pitched, pleasant tone. She felt a swelling of warmth at the sound of the voice, and recognized it as her mother's._

_"She does! I'm surprised she hasn't yet begun to belt out the Christmas tunes for us-"_

_"Oh, give it a while Teddy, it'll be sure to happen. For a five year old, she's got the vocal spirit of Etta James!"_

_The group her parents were in chuckled and conversed amongst themselves as if she weren't there, and she suddenly felt cursed for being so young, having the burden of not being included in the confines of their strange and bewildering adult world. Again, her teal eyes wandered, the mass of the banquet making it difficult to absorb all of it in at once._

_Suddenly a gloved hand enveloped her, its soft grip both assertive and welcoming. No hesitation gripped her, no alarming voice warned her, and then the figure stopped, soothingly instructing her to "stay in that spot, angel."_

_There was no anticipation, no growing fear or suspense, as the young Bulma stood there under the chandelier with eyebrows burrowed into the crook of her small nose. A small clicking noise above her sounded, and then there was someone small and shouting for her to look out, pushing her to the floor. Glittering glass crumbs decorated the shining floor of the ballroom, people gasping and shrieking their aghast worries for the two children in a heap on the floor._

_But Bulma, looking up, saw a face she would never forget._

_An evil, malicious face that possessed a smile so crookedly vile that it caused to her wake up crying._

"Bulma! What's wrong?" Came Yamcha's worried exclamation, sitting up in front of her with his hand on her bare shoulder.

She gasped and sputtered, not fully comprehending what just happened, or if it had happened at all. A cold front hit the moisture on her face that seemed to be still streaming from her eyes. She brought her warm hands to her cheeks, wiping off the excess tears of her all too vivid nightmare.

"I-I'm fine. Heh, really...," She stammered with a surprised laugh, still trying to get all of the wetness off of her face.

"Here, let's get you to the sink and wash you up-"

"No, Yamcha. I'm fine, really," was Bulma's stern reply as she got up, went to get her coat and car keys. Yamcha followed her, his hazel eyes swimming with shock and confusion.

"Bulma, what the hell are you doing?"

She gave him a look,"I'm leaving for a bit. I need to tell someone about this."

"Well, it better be a doctor, because you're acting crazy all of a sudden, Bulma."

With her back turned to him, she rolled her eyes,"I'll be back!"

The dark, midnight drive to the ruined mansion was more than enough to spook her as she tried to concentrate on the deserted road. Every second held the perpetual possibility for a crazed madman with that... smile to just jump out and kill her in a horrid, twisted way.

"Dropping a chandelier... Seriously?"

It took her a second to register the fact that she had said her thoughts out loud without even meaning to, giving her the slight impression that perhaps Yamcha was right for the first time they had been together. Sighing, she pulled into the rock-covered "driveway" of the mansion, practically running to the front door. It was opened before she could even knock.

"Hey!" She said breathlessly as he let her in, a bewildered expression on his stone face.

"What is the meaning of this, woman?"

"I had a dream."

He raised an eyebrow, repeating her in unamused monotone,"A dream."

"Yes! A dream about this place, my parents... a-and you-!"

"Me? Pfft, you are surely taking something you shouldn't before you go to bed."

"No! Please believe me, I wouldn't drive all the way over here if I was making this up!"

"But... nonetheless, it is a dream. Should this have a meaning of some kind?"

She simply nodded. He rolled his eyes, taking it as an indicator that this would take more than a few minutes, and made some tea for the two of them. "Thank you," she managed, her knee bouncing up and down with an unfulfilled anxiety. He sat down on the small couch opposite of the one she was sitting on as she eyed him, apparently waiting for him to speak first.

"Well? Get on with it, already-"

"There! That's EXACTLY what that kid said to me!" She exclaimed,"Well.. He was being pretty rude, but he said it just like that."

Silence fell between them, with his eyes narrowing in bitter anticipation.

"Oh! Right... Hm, where to start. Okay, well, I don't know. I was just standing in a ballroom of some sort, and-"

"What colour?"

"Hm? Excuse me?"

He cleared his throat,"I asked, what colour?"

"Oh. Right. Kind of goldish. Pale gold. Really fancy."

She waited for him to say something of recognition, but he said nothing and waited for her to resume.

"Okay. So I'm in this golden ballroom, and I'm looking around because everything's like blurry and stuff. Obviously because I was dreaming, my eyesight isn't that bad. Then I run into this spiky-haired kid who turns into a total asshole-"

He grunted.

"Well, he was! Anyway, he spouts off at me and then gets scolded by someone with a really loud voice-"

"Describe it."

"Uh.. I don't know, deep and loud."

"Fine. Continue."

She nodded,"Well, then... um... "

He growled in irritation,"Woman, just get on with it!"

"Hey! You keep interrupting with questions, and it throws me off! Kami!" She yelled back, folding her arms,"All I remember next was hearing my parents talk about me to their group of party friends, feeling kinda ignored... And then, a hand-"

"Was it gloved?"

She froze, looking at him with eyes full of surprise,"Y-Yeah."

He nodded, beckoning her to keep going.

"Um... The hand took mine, and I followed, not really getting a view of his face before you ask. And then he said,'Stay put right there, angel,' or something like that. I didn't know any better so I did. And then I was pushed away by the kid servant, because the chandelier was cut and it dropped right where I was."

"So it was a male voice?"

She nodded,"Yes, and the guy who cut it... Oh my god, he was awful. I mean, he was like worse than any villain you could ever imagine!"

"Hmpf... I can recall."

"Recall? Recall what?"

"Nothing-"

A sharp, straining sound of rope being stretched broke into the air, echoing from its place on the old ceiling. Bulma looked up, a terrified realization dawning in her turquoise orbs.

"V-Vegeta..."

His eyes shot to hers at the sound of his name.

"That is your name, r-r-right?"

"This is no time for proper introduction, woman! Hurry, get out!"

"But why? What's going on?"

"Can't you see already? Your dream is being realized!"

Her eyesbrow burrowed, just as they had hours ago in the form of her five-year-old body as she began to say,"What?"

"LOOK OUT!"

Then, the hard wooden floor met with her as an ear-numbing crash of glass erupted behind them. When she opened her eyes, she could see him already getting up, but could still feel the warmth of their close contact. Vegeta's chest heaved as he inspected the chandelier, and then glanced at her, scanning her for any wounds or injuries. She shook her head to signal that she was fine.

She felt dizzy and overwhelmed by the sudden-ness of what had just happened, however. She got up, looking herself over for any shards of glass that had flown their way onto her, and made her own way across the room, far away as possible from the fallen ornament.

"Tell me. Please, Vegeta," She asked him gently, a bold plea evident as she peered at him, waiting. He cast his eyes downward at the floor, cursing himself for not fully considering just what the house itself was capable of.

"I may have begun this too soon-"

"No! I told you I'm ready damnit, now fill me IN here!" She blasted, her eyes swimming with impatience and fury.

"Fine. But you have to remember what you just said."

She nodded.

Letting out a breath, he continued,"I didn't exactly think this out, but... It seems the house is realizing that you are here."

Her eyebrows burrowed again, her teal eyes blinking in the darkness of the living room.

"You are as much a part of this house as your parents, who are dead. So, in a literal case, you really are the true inheritor, and the house seems to understand that."

"The house has.. a conscience?"

He shook his head, his onyx eyes closing briefly,"There is nothing similar between the kind of mindset this house has and an actual conscience."

"Then what?"

"It's under a spell. A very evil, very real spell."

"But, how do you know this?"

He cleared his throat,"I just know."

She blinked, looking away until it finally hit her like a semi-truck,"You... You're the boy!"

He nodded,"And I've been here ever since."

Her blue locks swayed slightly as her head tilted, her amethyst eyes full of confusion,"Why?"

"The mansion has been waiting for you.. So have I. As simple as that, now if you're done with your incessant questioning, I do think that's enough explaining for one night!"

She pouted, wishing he wouldn't close up so quickly when all she wanted was answers,"Okay. I guess it is pretty late. But I _am_ coming tomorrow morning!"

He merely grunted, seeing her to her car, knowing what he had to do and cursing it grimly.

* * *

When she opened the door, the creepy cat clock showed that it was well past 2 in the morning. Trying to be quiet, she took off her coat and put the keys back, but before she could tiptoe into their bedroom, she bumped into a very awake, and perturbed Yamcha.

"Bulma, we need to talk."

"Yamcha, it's 2 am. Talk to your pillow as you go back to sleep."

"I'm serious," He retorted in a stern tone. She sighed, tilting her head to the side slightly in annoyance. He led her to their couch, sitting beside her as she kept her arms folded stubbornly,"I just think that you've been really detached lately, and-"

"What the hell is difference now Yamcha? I've always been buried in my work, ever since we met, and that didn't stop you from wanting to see me, or hell, even LIVE with me! You know how this is, so why pick now to suddenly throw it in my face?" She screeched, trying not to let her fatigue get to her. She was obviously failing, especially from the hurt, puppy-eyed look on her boyfriend's face. It was that look that had always reeled her in and kept her from choosing what she really needed to do.

"Bulma, now it's just gotten to the point where I feel like I'm living by myself. When I look at you, you don't even seem happy. You seem... lost. Like you're not even here anymore," He lament, his eyes casting downward, away from her.

"Well, maybe if you looked just a teensy bit closer, you would find that not only have I found a house that I've been subconsciously looking for in all the years in home journalism, but I have found something that actually means alot more to me than I ever could have expected! And if you can't see that, or respect it, then maybe we shouldn't keep trying!"

His hazelnut orbs flashed a deep sting from her hypothesis, knowing full well that there had been more than just a valid point or two in what she had just hashed out of from the reality of their relationship. Letting go of her was never on his list of ideas when it came to them, though, and he had a hard time coping with it.

"Yamcha... I'm serious. I need this time to focus on the house. To myself. And for your sake, too, you know. Maybe you could get some good you-time-"

"I've had enough just living here. Trust me, you make it all too easy for me to be by myself. I'm sorry I couldn't extend the favour out to you too."

With that, he went into the room, inevitably grabbing a pillow and one of their many blankets, and walked out the door to sleep in the car.

* * *

He approached her with a smirk at her sullen form that morning,"Why so glum, woman?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed,"Shut up, guy problems."

"Hmpf," was his reply as he considered her for a moment, then turned and led her into the mansion. Her eyes immediately averted towards the floor, which was conspicuously spotless. She gave him a look, one eyebrow cocked as he simply proclaimed,"I'm excellent at housekeeping."

"Pfft. I've seen better."

"Oh really? Ever thought of actually doing some cleaning yourself?"

Instantly, the image of her paper-cluttered office was conjured into her mind, causing her to bitterly spit,"Well working people don't have the time for such maintenance activities."

"Working people do the same damn thing every same damn time every samn damn week of their lives. Do you really see me in such an environment, woman?"

She leaned her head to the side, looking him over,"Well, you waited for me for this long..."

His onyx eyes narrowed at the mention of their late-night conversation,"That's different."

"So... Anything new to show and tell today, Vegeta?" She asked in a slow purr, deliberately pronouncing his name in a slur to annoy him.

"Of course, now follow me," He replied with an enthusiastic smirk drawing his lips up in an eerie curve, causing Bulma to frown. He never showed an eagerness to show her anything in the past, especially concerning HER past. She followed him nonetheless, passing it off as him being in a good mood, which was rare she was coming to see.

He led her to the same attic in which they had had their first encounter, conjuring the surreal memory of raindrops racing each other on the large window that took up the size of what a wall would be on the far side of the attic room. Boxes still piled themselves into the corner opposite of the window-wall, waiting for her to undo them and unlock some type of velvet memory pertaining to her home life, if not her parents' childhoods.

With a slim eyebrow turned upward, she peered around, then finally turned to him,"Um, what exactly is there to see, Vegeta?"

Leaning on the doorway, he pointed a thick finger forward,"The window."

She obeyed, looking back at him only once for some kind of clue or assurance. Nearly pressing her face to it, she squinted her eyes as the view of the entire front acre of the house was seen. The sun exposed its rays onto the pine trees that were surrounding most of the grassy front yard. The far mountains in the east shone majestically a coat of white snow in the afternoon sunlight.

"Vegeta, I don't see-"

Before she could finish her sentence of confusion, she heard the splintering of glass as the layer of window keeping her in the attic gave way, and she was suddenly plunging toward a grassy demise, the grounding rushing to meet up with her, and then...

Black.

* * *

's all folks. for the year of 2008, atleast.

and HEY! Thanks for the reviews so far! I have a renewed hope in this thing every time i read them, so thanks a lot!

hope its not confusing, and i hope you guys are having a happy holiday so far

thanks for reading, and reviews / constructive criticism are always welcome!

~jckash03


	6. Safety

Okay, so I haven't really been too attentive or nurturing to this story, and I had to chop off some chapters because, frankly, they were crap and I wasn't in the right state of mind when I wrote them per se. So, here I am to shed a new light and start anew with this story since I am still having people review this and add this to their faves instead of the one I am currently working on, Redemption.

Without further ado, then.

And thanks, btw, to those who provided the unexpected inspiration. I also felt that this spooky notion would be good to restart now that Halloween is approaching. Hell, maybe I can get to the juicy scary stuff by then!

Review me some luck, guys.

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

Watching her chest fall slowly and rise even slower caused Yamcha to ache with every passing hour that she didn't regain consciousness. The doctors remained hopeful and the nurses remained helpful, but Bulma remained stagnant in her recovery. Taking deep breaths as the doctor prescribed, he waited for her in the white stillness of the room.

But Bulma was not surrounded by the same, sterile chalk-coloured walls that Yamcha sat in. She was lost within a certain darkness that was infinite and filled with memories that were disguised as nightmares. Flashes of the same, evil man who released the chandelier onto where she was standing ran through her sleeping mind, keeping her frozen in fear and unconsciousness. He kept reaching out to her, his gloved hand stretching through the veils of black as his eyes struck through her likes lightening bolts of pure, unadulterated evil. Her mouth would gape, her chest caving, but Bulma could not even scream. No sound would come out. Only silence.

Yamcha still couldn't figure out why Bulma would writhe and wince as if she were in intense pain, but as he gazed on, he saw that her face was contorted more in the expression of fear than anything else. He wanted more than anything to hold her and calm her down, but she seemed to be inconsolable. He shook his head, he KNEW that house was no good for her. When he arrived at the hospital, they had told him that she was found in a blanket of snow with the window on the second story broken above her, indicating she had fallen through. Bulma may be a little naive, and clumsy when she drank, but falling out of a window?

Something seemed off.

There had to be something she wasn't telling him. Perhaps there was someone else there, and an argument had ensued. Maybe... another lover.

He shook his head violently. She would never! Maybe there was an intruder or something, but nothing more. He refused to accuse her of anything in the state she was in, not even in his mind. He quickly shoved the entirely thinking process behind and reached for a magazine on the table next to him. Sighing, he began to flip pages, determined to stop his head from spinning out of control again.

Some time later, a noise woke Yamcha up from a nap that he wasn't even aware of slipping into. It was her heart monitor, spiking up and down as it normally would with any other person. But it seemed to be getting faster and faster at an unnatural speed. His eyebrows burrowed, confusion blurring his reaction when the lights started to flicker in and out. He looked around wildly, watching as lights began to flash and then things were moving by themselves: books, plants, and even the blinds on the window were crashing into each other as if someone invisible was thrashing their arms about.

He screamed for help, trying to get to the door, but it slammed itself shout. In despair, he began to hit it over and over, feeling the overwhelming sensation of helpless fear and adrenaline take over his body.

Then everything stopped, and the lights went out.

He heard nothing but his own raspy breath echoing in the still, empty room. As soon as he turned around, the lights came back on to reveal a figure in the opposite corner of the room.

It was a man, pale white, in a black suit with his head bowed, which showed only a veiny, purple skin. His face contorted with disgust, and then horror, as the head slowly rose and a large purple tail revealed itself from behind the man. Decomposed and wrinkled, his bloodshot eyes and smirking face bore into Yamcha's before he stomped forward with a bloody palm out, ready to grasp Yamcha by the neck and choke him.

He yelled out in blinding terror as the grimy fingers enclosed around his neck, his own hands quickly reaching up to take it off of him, but before they even made contact with the outreached arm, he was being pushed over and over until he found himself in Bulma's hospital room once again, this time sitting and staring at an obese nurse. He screamed again and flinched as her hand reached out to comfort him. She was taken aback by his response, giving him a hard stare, and briskly walked out.

Regaining composure, he put a hand on his still heaving chest. He had never felt anything so scary or so real like that before. The dream had been so vivid. Was this was Bulma was talking about before? Before this horrible accident? Was that the man who did this to her?

"Yamcha...?"

His head snapped in the direction of the caressing, tired voice. Elation and shock filled him, the nightmare completely forgotten as he took her in his arms. Finally, Bulma was awake.

"My Kami, Bulma, how do you feel? Are you okay? What happened?"

A weak smile appeared on her lips, "Yamcha, I'm fine. Just really thirsty. Could you get me some water?"

"Yes, anything babe. I'm so happy you're okay. Kami, I was so worried. You have no idea. You've been out for so long, I didn't think-"

Her eyebrows burrowed slightly in confusion, "Huh? I've been out?"

He blinked, taken aback by how much she didn't remember, "You don't remember anything, do you?"

She paused and looked down, then slightly shook her head.

Yamcha nodded, looking away awkwardly as he himself didn't even know, "It's alright. I'll just get you something to drink, okay? I'll be right back. Stay put!"

She giggled, shaking her head at her boyfriend's silliness. But once he was gone, her smile faded. What in the world could have happened to her? She tried to move her body, then hissed at the sharp pain in her arm. Was it broken?

He returned within minutes with a small cup of water. She sipped greedily as he rubbed her shoulder, gazing at her with a warm sincerity that she couldn't shake. She felt completely safe, despite the threat of whatever happened to her. He told her what they had told him upon his arrival. She laid there, wide-eyed at the story. Fallen out of a window? Couldn't be...

Then she remembered Vegeta. The sullen look on his face when she arrived, like he knew something she didn't. Something sad. But that was all. Nothing of their conversation, or of her going back up to the attic with him.

What could have possibly gone wrong, and why didn't Vegeta save her from it?

"Babe..."

Her eyes snapped up and out of her contemplative trance at his loving, chocolate orbs full of concern and worry. She felt horrible for putting him through this, but that ache for not knowing herself or her past compelled her to continue on. However, she knew what he was going to say. She knew.

"I need you to make me a promise. This has gone on long enough."

She looked away, her face etched with a pained reluctance, "And what promise would that be?"

Yamcha licked his lips, a nervous tic he always had when he knew he was asking or saying something that was a lot, "I need you to promise me that you will never return to that horrible mansion."

Sighing, she closed her eyes and brought his hand to her lips, kissing it softly as a form of acceptance to his conditions.

"I promise."

* * *

For the next couple months to come, Bulma recovered from her injuries with gusto and continued her life without Vegeta and the scary mansion. She had contacted her agency and told them she would no longer be investigating the house for its value, for she concluded it did not contain any. She moved on to other homes in her area, finding light and exciting furnishings to fill her career with. A new veil of brightness had fallen over her, and she had never felt more safe, more joyful than before.

But even without the dark house, there was a darkness surrounding her true identity. She ignored it continuously, pushing away troubling thoughts and flashbacks to what Vegeta had taught her of her past, her beginning in life. She would find herself thinking about her mother and her father, how they lived and cherished her. She felt yearning for more, more knowledge and more memories of them to fill her mind with. But she knew she couldn't, and this would overcome her with sadness.

The longing got worse and worse, to the point where Bulma could no longer concentrate. Yamcha would have to repeatedly call her name to get her attention. At dinner she would rarely eat, and instead simply stare into space without saying a word. Yamcha felt her slipping away once again, and it wasn't even the mansion this time. He was getting frustrated and tired, hating how he lived with someone he barely communicated with anymore.

Then one night, he decided to surprise her. She was in bed already, having changed into pajamas and brushed her teeth already when Yamcha pounced on her, his arms on either side of her as he tried to kiss her out of nowhere. Confused and surprised, Bulma allowed his kiss but tried to push him slightly, so as to break the kiss and inquire what exactly he was doing.

"Bulma," He purred breathlessly, "I want you..."

Her eyes widened, feeling his hands roam over her clothed body with warmth and wanting. As he led a trail of kisses up her neck, she looked off into the distance, feeling herself slip from her own grasp. It no longer felt safe, and it no longer possessed any feeling even. She couldn't keep up with this charade anymore. She had to go.

"Yamcha.. I'm-I'm sorry!"

She laid a hand on his chest, gently pushing until he got the hint. Pain flickered through his soft, brown eyes as his face held a shocked surprise. "What?"

Shaking her head, she felt an urgency wash through her. Grabbing a handful of clothing and shoving them in a bag, she took one last, sorrowful look at Yamcha, feeling nothing but the compelling drive in her to get out of that apartment. As safe as it was, she had felt lifeless there, the mystery of her own upbringing was swallowing her whole inch by inch.

Getting in her car, she tried to catch her breath. Hearing the engine rev and the car start, a breathy smile brightened her face in the dead of night, and she reveled in the genuine elation she had been deprived of for so long.

She finally felt as if she were going home.

* * *

Ok, I think that will do. Poor Yamcha! I wonder what she'll discover when she returns to the house once again, breaking her promise.. Who knows! I won't even know until I get more reviews to inspire me!

~Jckash03


	7. Returns and Revelations

WOW! You guys rock! Within 24 hours, I got like a huge handful of reviews to this story. I am so grateful that I am updating this TOnight even though I should be sleeping for school tomorrow. Anyway, I want to make a special shout out to jalfal, who gave me a nicely sized review and kudos for changing the chapter. Let me just tell you, jalfal, that what lacks in the previous chapter (Vegeta's perspective) was done on purpose and will follow this very brief Author's Note. I wanted you guys to feel the safety and the attempt to erase Vegeta and the mansion altogether, which was in vain unfortunately for Yamcha.

So here we go! Again, thank you SO much for all the adds and reviews. Extremely inspiring.

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

It was midnight as Bulma trekked across town to the shady mansion, darkness falling all around her as a rainstorm began to stew above her car. Bulma was steering with a solid focus, determination blinding her from the conditions of the weather or any other circumstances that were occurring around her. Hardly blinking, Bulma drove her black, sleek vehicle forth into the deep night, not even the speckled patterns of quickly increasing raindrops covering her windshield impeding her.

After what felt like hours, she had finally made it. It looked exactly the same. Getting out of the car, she was instantly drenched, finding her eyes laying upon the very window from which she plummeted to a broken arm and sore limbs. She had to look even closer, her cerulean eyes squinting through the foggy sheet of rain.

It was completely repaired.

Then her eyes dropped to the ground, where she estimated her fall had landed. No blood. Not even snow, as it had been so long and spring was approaching; it had melted away already. It was as if the house had forgotten all about her and her scary plight from the second story. A shiver ran through her from the icy cold of the rain, reminding her that she was standing in the middle of a storm. Shaking, she made her way up the wooden stairs and felt her ears fill with the noisy clunk of her boots on the porch beneath her, almost like she was afraid of announcing her present here once again. Butterflies filled her stomach as time stood still without the door ever moving. She looked behind her, just to be sure that there was nothing there, and turned around to once again gaze at the quiet door.

Suddenly, it opened with a 'Whoosh!", a glaring Vegeta holding it open. His charcoal eyes scanned her wet body up and down, nothing but contempt filling them.

"What in the hell is the meaning of this? Didn't you get enough last time?" He rasped at her angrily, showing his bare teeth like a rabid dog awoken from a nap. Bulma couldn't find the words to explain herself, in fact she had merely acted on impulse. She really DIDN'T know why she decided to return after what had happened last time.

Vegeta rolled his eyes, "Well, don't just stand there gaping at me, get inside..."

He stepped back to open the door even more, Bulma hesitantly walking forward and then pausing before her foot landed on the floor inside. Her eyes, wide and blank with fearful anticipation, snapped up to peer into his, which were swimming with flashes of something that she could not identify. Closing her eyes tentatively, she stepped in with one foot. Then the other. And Vegeta shut the door.

Nothing happened.

At least, for a couple short-lived moments of silence. Then, a crash ensued in a far corner of the house, followed by the sound of falling glass as Vegeta and Bulma stood there frozen, horrified to move or breath or blink in their spots with their eyes glued to the stairs that was coated in the eerie blue shade of the moonlight. Suddenly, the downstairs seemed a little brighter in their peripheral vision, and they both looked over to see that more candles had been lit in the living room.

Or had lit themselves, that is.

Her chest began to heave, her nostrils flaring with utter terror and shock at the blatant display of paranormal presence before her after going so long without any mere mention of it. Her mind began to scream at her: Was it truly worth it to come back, for this?

Vegeta watched her as her eyes drifted away in thought before he inched himself forward, his lips near her left ear, "Is this what you came back for, woman...?"

Her eyes squeezed shut at his question, her body tensing as it released a tremble from both his whispering breath upon her skin and his close proximity. This man was a mere stranger, a ghost of her so-called past even, and yet she felt that she knew him. She felt so much just from being here.. So much more than she did in that ridiculous existence in that apartment...

"Yes," Came her feeble reply. He grunted, not having a response handy for hers. He turned and went into the newly well-lit living room, opening a cupboard of some sort and pouring something. Bulma looked over at him, her previous fears completely gone. She began to take in the very sight of him; the tall, dark spikes of his hair, his thickly muscled physique, the slimness of his waist. He must not eat very much with all this going on and not having much food in this house, she pondered, but he still works hard to maintain it.

Then pity grappled at her for a brief second. To think she had deserted this place after he had done so much for long to keep it going for her sake!

Then he turned, his eyes immediately connecting with hers as if he knew she had been watching him. He had two glasses in his hand of what she presumed was liquor. He set them down on the glass table in front of the two dusty couches in the living room.

"Sit," He ordered. She walked slowly, the candlelight glimmering in her aquamarine orbs as they remained on him during her way to the couch. His own kept flickering from the floor and back up to hers, signaling that he was nervous. But she knew why, already.

"I came here.. For answers."

"Drink it, it will warm you up-"

"ANSWERS, Vegeta!"

Her shout stilled the room, as it bore no reply from the perturbed stranger that she knew as Vegeta. He began to pace the room, as if trying to think of something. Her eyebrows burrowed forward, confusion taking the best of her. Finally, he stopped in his tracks, and looked over at her, the candlelight only illuminating half of his face, showing her that he held no expression, no emotion whatsoever.

"I did it."

All at once, Bulma felt as if the very wind had been taken out of her. Him? The one who was supposed to protect her and guide her? Tears sprang to her eyes as she regarded him with a shocked, empty face, her eyes wide with sadness, shock, and disbelief all at once.

He swallowed audibly, "I was trying to warn you-"

"Why..?" Was all she could breathe out, tears simply falling from her eyes like concrete bricks, leaving a slick trail of moisture down her face that sparkled in the candlelight, striking his chest with even more guilt than he already had.

He looked away, frustrated. "I was trying to get you out of here! I was trying to keep you away, to warn you, woman! Do you honestly think that anything good could have come out of this meddling with whatever's in this house? Do you think it would be less painful than that was for you?"

She was silent, her lips pursing together as her mind swam in the ultimate whirlwind of shell-shock from this revelation. He sighed, running his hand through his hair and closing his eyes as he leaned against the cupboard. She wiped away her tears, feeling anger brewing within her. She stood up, catching his gaze once again, and eyed him coldly.

"Then why are you still here, Vegeta...?" She began to walk around the table, towards him, with slow and deliberate steps. "If this is a lost cause in and of itself, then why do you remain here? All alone, by yourself.. Is it keeping you here? Will it refuse to let you out? Or were you waiting for someone else to show up so you could feed them the same horseshit-"

That's when he grabbed her by the wrist, forcibly pulling the sleeve of her coat down to reveal her forearm. He let out deep, ragged breaths through his nostrils as he eyed it carefully, almost as if he were studying it. Bulma looked down at him with startled rage, electrified by the sudden, unexpected touch and grip of his firm hands.

Finally, she found her voice once again, "What are you going to do, break it again?"

He looked at her, first with confusion and then with a dark sadness as he released her arm. Brushing past her, he began to walk away, leaving her in the living room. For some reason, she felt a wave of guilt from her words wash over her, despite what he had said to her. Was it truly that horrific if he was forced to push her out of a window to keep her safe? Shaking her head, she refused to excuse it. Fixing the sleeve of her coat, she felt the fight-or-flight response kick in and she was out the door in seconds.

It slammed behind her without her being the one who had shut it. She spun around to look at it, wondering if it had been Vegeta who did that. Shaking her head, she turned back around and made her way back the stairs and into the pouring rain. Once inside the car, she fought back the surge of sobs that were making their way up her throat and started it, wanting nothing to be away from both this house and everything else.

But what else was there? She felt entirely lost. If she couldn't be with Yamcha, and couldn't chase the mystery of her past in this house with Vegeta, then what exactly could she do?

She parked after only a few minutes of driving, not being able to take it anymore. Feeling exhausted and drained, she allowed herself the liberty of sobbing as hard as she could, feeling misery and melancholy infest her inner being. She had never felt so alone and lost in her entire life.

* * *

Vegeta sank into the hard mattress in his chambers, both physically and emotionally. The haunting spirits of the house grew tiresome and wearing by night, and after nearly three decades of it, Vegeta could suffice to say that he'd had enough.

But she was right. He couldn't leave. Not only did they, the spirits of the mansion, keep him there for their reasons... But once Bulma had been magnetized to the house, Vegeta's draw to it had magnified tenfold. A sense of duty had formed within him that he could not seem to shake, despite his most blatant effort to erase her and her involvement with the house. He drew in a sharp breath merely thinking about it. He hated how he injured her, causing her fall into the snow below them. Even then, as she lay dormant more than 25 feet below him, her angelic presence plagued his mind and her soft, velvet smell tormented his senses.

He had stared at her for a long time, without a true amount to it. He stood there long enough to memorize the awkward angle of her body and to hear the sound of the thud her body made hitting the ground over and over in his mind. Now, he had to take a deep breath to console himself with the inner torture that act was having on him now. He felt shame wash through him at his cowardly act of trying to stray her away from this horrible place.

That was all he could think of doing. He had the honest intention of keeping her safe, and he even managed to for a handful of months as well. After so long of simply existing here, wafting through each day of work and tolerance of the paranormal happenings in the house, and then having her appear out of nowhere... He had been shocked. The entire time, he truly believed that he was destined to live there and die there, alone. And he had accepted that. But to have the responsibility of revealing the nightmare he had survived to yet another, who he also had to protect from it.. Now that was a mission all on its own.

A mission he had not been ready for.

Would he ever be ready? He thought of the falling tear down her cheek, the cold sting of betrayal that leaked from her pooling, turquoise eyes. Could he do that again? He felt his chest grow heavy from the immense guilt, the utter confusion of what was right to do and what wasn't. All he knew was that she had enchanted this house somehow, and it scared him as much as it thrilled him.

But what he did not yet know, was how much she had enchanted him.

Morning came. Vegeta woke stiffly in his bed as sunlight poured into the grey walls of his bedroom. Bleak, dull, and lifeless were the words that came to mind with this house. He had done his best to keep it from becoming a bug nest or a homeless shelter, but it seemed he could not make it glow the way it had when he had first arrived there.

The ever-occuring image of the beautiful, gleaming golden house that came to mind every single morning that he awoke once again cursed his thoughts as he sat up slowly. Sleep was always restless for Vegeta, as nightmares often plagued him and the fear of such nightmares kept him wary and awake most of the time. Vegeta lived in fear of what he lived in, while Bulma lived in fear of never knowing where she came from, or who she was meant to be.

Making his way to the kitchen with a rumbling stomach, he rummaged through drawers and the fridge that didn't even function properly to find that there was absolutely nothing edible within the confines of his eating quarters. He even forgot when the last time it was that he had ventured out to get anything. But he did know why; anytime he returned from a trip to the nearby village or market, the house would screech with displeasure of having no inhabitants in it for the time he was gone. It was as if it needed a constant presence to feed on for its own evil purposes.

Putting on an old, dusty coat from the many closets in the house, he reached for the doorknob and twisted, but it would not budge. Vegeta never locked the door, knowing that intruders would be annihilated by the house anyway, and so he felt a certain fury rise in him, knowing full well whose doing it was.

"Let me out! I will die if I do not eat, you moronic house!"

He shook the doorknob over and over, banging on the door before it finally opened by itself. Vegeta huffed and rolled his eyes, walking out into the bright sunlight of the early morning.

That was when he saw her.

Holding a bag that he presumed was groceries, there she was, literally beaming at him, "I thought you could use these."

She was leaning against her black car. Vegeta felt hesitation curse him with each slow step toward her, his eyes squinting a little due to the showering sunlight in both of their eyes.

"Come on! I don't bite, Vegeta." She joked lightly, picking up another bag that had been on the hood of the car and handing it to him before walking past him to the house.

"W-What? Is this some kind of prank?"

She tilted her head, her face innocent and inconspicuous. "Is what a prank?"

He looked down, "This.. What you're doing. I.. I did not expect this."

Her lips kicked up at the corners, her eyes glinting warmly in the morning sun, "Unexpected surprises are the best surprises, silly."

"Is this some sort of peace offering then?" He continued as they went into the kitchen, starting to put things away in the cupboards.

She turned and looked at him, blinking with an inquisitive expression, silently asking that he elaborate.

"You were not very pleased with me last night. Not that I entirely blame you... But I must demand what is the meaning of this?"

Bulma sighed. "I don't hold grudges, Vegeta. I can't afford to. But I'm sure you learned your lesson even if you never said sorry... I know you are."

"Hm." Was all he could respond with, not liking how intuitive she was with his feelings. But then, he had another question to ask, "And why did you return, then?"

She swiftly stepped over bags, her eyes piercing into his with a steel determination that affected him on the inside somehow. It evoked a certain respect out of him, as well as a marveling in how much she could actually take for not having lived in this kind of atmosphere before. Inches away, she stared him straight in the eye and parted her red lips to speak slowly in a soft purr that traveled up his spine.

"Vegeta.. This is my house, and I call the shots around here. Now, you're either with me, or you're not..."

He briskly nodded, watching her as her face blossomed into a confident, triumphant grin. Poking him on the side, she cried out, "Come on, let's get the groceries out and make some damn breakfast!"

Vegeta could only watch with amusement at her display of playful enthusiasm, knowing deep inside what truly awaited the young woman. If only she knew...

* * *

Ooooh spooooky. I'm so excited to write for this story now that I'm aware of how many people are actually following it. Thank you guys so much once again for your amazing feedback. I will do my best to ensure that this story lives up the potential ya'll says it has! THANKS.

~Jckash03


	8. Light in Dark, Dark in Light

Sorry for the long delay, folks. Been drowning in work and school, and fighting off writer's block as well. I have also done some delving of my own into past and found that there is a little bit of this A/U Bulma in me as well- I am always looking for the answers that lie in myself in my past.

But maybe the past does not hold the key. Maybe the key is simply right there, inside of myself, right here in the present.

Maybe. :)

Onto the story!

'-thinking

"-writing

* * *

They ate in silence with only brief glances at each other interrupting the tense silence. Bulma felt strange to be in the presence of someone she hardly knew, yet she also felt a countering significant tie to him. She watched him as he gluttonously stormed through the fruit and bread she had brought from the village market as if he hadn't eaten in years. His eyes were glued to the main object of his attention, but he could tell she was staring at him with those big, aquatic orbs that seemed to pierce anything with that perpetually inquisitive mind of hers.

"Staring is impolite, woman," Vegeta grumbled through pieces of croissant in his mouth.

Bulma smirked, not surprised in the least. "So is talking with your mouth full, Vegeta."

"Hm," Was all he replied with. Bulma couldn't take the silence again, so she fought to find something to say. Then something occurred to her.

"Hey, how come nobody at the market recognized me? Weren't my parents like high profile here?" She asked with a slight pang in her chest full of grief speaking about parents she hardly remembered.

Vegeta stopped chewing and swallowed hard. "Woman, it's been almost two decades since your death was published. I doubt anyone in this shitty town would remember. Not to mention..."

Bulma blinked, watching his eyes flicker across her body.

"You don't exactly resemble a five-year-old any longer."

Bulma's eyes fell down absently on the fruit lying before them, a sly smile gracing her lips inwardly at his subtle compliment. But then it dawned on her that she had no idea how old he was, or really anything about him for that matter. An intense curiosity burned through her as the journalist side of her fired up a storm of questions in her head.

"How old were you.. You know. When this happened?"

He froze, already uncomfortable with her starting to ask. He didn't mind sharing information about her to her, but not of himself. Tensed up, he instantly replied with, "When what happened?"

Bulma's face contorted with hesitation, sensing his discomfort, "Just.. Everything. I mean, you haven't even told me all of it so-"

"You're not ready," Vegeta interrupted her with a curt shake of his nod before standing up and going to a nearby window, staring out and clenching his jaw. It was as if he were trying to tune her out for some reason. It was odd, but Bulma persisted anyway.

"Well that may be true... But I just want to know how old you were."

A silence fell between them, full of anticipation on Bulma's part and hesitation on Vegeta's. He did not want to delve into HIS past, so much so that even the minor detail of his age at the time of all that chaos was an unbearable question. Also, he knew that once he started to fill her in, she wouldn't stop asking for more. He sensed this about her.

But being silent for so long, and being alone for so long, made Vegeta almost as curious as Bulma was about him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad to actually articulate the nightmarish mess of memories inside of him. Just a little.

Taking an inaudible gulp, Vegeta heard himself say in his usual croak, "Eight."

Bulma nodded softly, feeling a bright sensation of validation from his reply, but also a slight sadness as well that he had been so young to go through so much. But instead of pressing, she started to put the fruit and bread away. Vegeta felt a tinge of relieved surprise when he didn't hear another question spring forth from the audacious female.

"One day, woman... But not now," Vegeta blurted in his croaking voice, "I am going to take a shower." Bulma nodded silently again, wanting nothing more than the lost feeling to go away. He stopped in the doorway to give her a questioning glance, as if debated whether it was really safe to leave her alone in the house. It would be the first time, and hopefully not the last. Shaking his head, he sauntered out of the kitchen and to his bathroom.

It began to rain outside. Hard. Bulma sighed as she looked around the vacant living room. It was vacant in many ways. It was grey, dusty, and every piece of furniture was worn with age and moth-eaten holes. Feeling a bit restless, she had to do something about it.

Two shiny, turquoise orbs stared upward into the large, glaring window above the middle staircase. It shone with the grey light of rain and clouds from outside, casting a spooky sheen of dead light all around her. Taking one creaking step at a time, Bulma made her way slowly up the steps, her heart beating like a drum for someone to pop out or a shadow to whiz by her.

But nothing happened.

She made it to the top of the staircase, now hearing the faint thundering of water from Vegeta's shower. Steam poured through the doorway. She was almost tempted to open the door and see what his bedroom was like and if it was anything similar to the lifelessness of the living room. The irony was distasteful, but it seemed Bulma had a knack for understanding it. Her fear for the house and the threat it represented was growing less and less all of a sudden, as if the time away created a gigantic appreciation for its significance to her.

She would rather die than live without this mansion.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of meeting her maker here in this house. She briefly wondered if it was like one of those movies where she really WAS dead, as they had reported her to be, she just didn't know it. 'Stop it, Bulma. You're being ridiculous!' She scolded herself, being the mother to herself that she never had.

Wondering back up the steps, she caught sight of the attic door. She remembered Vegeta barricading her with his arm, demanding to know who she was as he burned into her with those smoldering dark orbs. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found that day. Nothing.

Then something caught her eye. Her eyebrows burrowing, her eyes squinting to examine closer the darker shade that represented a door next to the door that opened to the attic. Stepping before it, she raised a hand to it and felt scorching heat. She cried out, taking back her hand and staring at the space with wide eyes. How could one part of the wall be burning hot? She felt the other attic door, and it was cold as ice.

A slight shiver ran up her spine before all of a sudden hearing a husky voice ask, "What are you doing?"

Gasping, she spun around to face a wet Vegeta in only a towel that was wrapped around his waist. Her startle turned into a blush as she realized he had the most minimal on. "Th-That was fast.."

"Yes, well I knew I couldn't leave you alone for more than two minutes..," He seethed, looking down at her hand. His face contorted into a fierce expression, holding something that almost seemed like a rough concern. "What the hell happened there?"

"Oh..," Bulma looked at her hand, seeing the moist, red blotch that the door had caused. She looked over at the patch of the wall that she had investigated, only to see no difference in shade whatsoever.

Her eyes wildly snapped from the door to her hand and then to Vegeta as she stammered, "No.. It was hot. Scorching hot. And it was darker than the rest of the wall!"

He shot her a skeptical glare, still holding on to his towel, "Woman, don't give me a reason to make sure you stay away from this house, again. I can't have you going insane-"

Something snapped inside Bulma at his words, having not fully forgiven him for that incident. She could only feel herself as she took a swift step forward, inching right into his face and staring with solid determination right into his shocked eyes. Shaking with searing emotion, she declared in an even tone, "You will never do that to me again, understand? NOTHING will deter me from finding out what happened to me and my family!"

Nostrils flaring, Bulma heard the strong words echo in her mind. She took a step back, her face clearing of her ferocity as she realized what had just ran through her. She had nothing felt or said or done anything so.. powerful or full of emotion like that. She blinked and looked up at a stunned Vegeta, who just stared at her like she had just appeared there out of nowhere.

Swallowing hard, she took her hand and laid it on his arm, feeling how warm and dry the olive skin was, "I'm s-"

"Get off!" Vegeta shouted as he swiped her hand away with his, leaving nothing to hold his towel as it fell to the ground with a loud thud that magnified in both their ears. Bulma looked away immediately, her cheeks turning to sheets of crimson as Vegeta's face showed nothing but hot, burning anger and embarrassment, barely uttering a choked "Excuse me" as he pulled up the towel and rushed to his bedroom.

Bulma felt a shock wave run through her. Even in all the years that she had been with Yamcha, she had never really SEEN something so explicit in front of her. The atmosphere turned electric all of a sudden from the heated exchange between the two, her with anger and his with humiliation. She felt guilt prickle at her chest for basically causing his towel to fall, but then again she had to expect that he wouldn't let her touch her. They both were victims, not just her.

She went back to the attic door, placing a hand on it to feel a normal temperature, and looking back at the place in the wall that had triggered the whole event.

And there it was, the imprint of a door, even darker than it was before.

* * *

He couldn't believe it. When he woke up the next morning, it was like a dream that had ended in a nightmare. It was a dream of a beautiful woman with every bit of a mystery about her that he just couldn't figure out, and ended with the nightmare of that mystery whisking her away from him forever. But it was a queer feeling, as if the long and tedious affair with her had never happened. It was as if she were never here, the way a light mist overfell the city's floors and then precipitated back into the air where it first came from.

As if she had never been here before.

Shaking his head, he proceeded to rub his eyes and stretch. He still had a day ahead of him, doing much of nothing. He had baseball practice, but he might skip it. He had an excuse after all. His girlfriend left him... for a house.

He could imagine the guys trying to stifle their laughter, a prick of humiliation stinging him in the chest. How could she do this? Was he boring? Was he not nice enough, generous enough? They had wanted to get married, have kids. They had so much in common.

Didn't they?

That's when he realized, he himself didn't even know much about her. He knew the surface- her likes, dislikes, what foods she preferred and what flavour of wine she liked to drink after a long day at work in her home office or visiting houses. He knew she was a writer, but not exactly what she wrote about.

He got up, brushed his teeth, and stared in the mirror at his own chocolate eyes gazing back in an empty daze. Subtle hints of a hazy confusion were present inside of them, as if he were in the dark somehow. About something. A shiver ran down his spine as the image of the purple lizardman flashed before his mind's eye. Who was that guy anyway? And what did it have to do with Bulma?

Did it also have to do with that creepy house she was frequenting and neglecting him for?

He wanted nothing more than to get in the car, snatch her, and save her from that awful place. He was shaken with envy at how she could leave him for it, putting so much time and dedication into that instead of their relationship together. But he had already tried to keep her from it. He did. Perhaps... just as she tried to stay there with him.

Sadness lurked into him, and then guilt at feeling the sharp emotions of jealousy and resentment. When he stepped in the hall, however, he stopped and looked over at the closed door that went to her office. Time froze as the temptation swallowed his focus whole. Should he? What would he find in there?

'No... I can't do that to her. I've already been overzealous enough with my thoughts. She deserves more respect than that.'

Sighing, Yamcha's shoulders hunched and he went to the kitchen to make breakfast, only to find he had no appetite. So he made coffee, even thought he never drank it. He also got the newspaper and placed it on the table right in front of the chair that Bulma always chose at breakfast time, even though he never read the paper. He could still see her gleaming cerulean eyes scanning and calculating the printed words before her as she brought the dark coffee with sugar and no cream to her pink lips, the bottom one barely brushing the rim of the glass that he had set on the table in the stream of sunlight.

'Come back to me, Bulma. Come back to the light...'

* * *

It was dark in the house by the time Vegeta came out of his room. He felt nothing but burning humiliation at the prior events, and did not want to see the odd woman whatsoever after them. He blamed her and her ridiculous need to try and comfort him when all he needed her to do was shut up, stay back, and listen once in a damn while. But after meditating in his room and trying to keep his head quiet and his tempers suppressed, he came back out with the irrepressible tinge of curiosity nudging him to peek around the dim house.

She had candles lit already, if in fact it was her and not the presence of paranormal entities. Vegeta always kept a wary eye out for anything supernatural, only because he knew the house was prone to expressing itself physically, especially when a newcomer (or old-comer, in Bulma's case) was around. Vegeta went down the creaking stairs, hearing nothing but the tiny crackling of flames against wax in the many candles surrounding him.

His onyx eyes darted back and forth, his ears jutting out with focused hearing on anything that would indicate movement. But nothing came. He finally reached the bottom of the stairs without so much as a mouse crawling across the floor until suddenly blaring lights blasted his unaccustomed eyes from the living room. His arms shot up to shield himself, turning his face away.

"Bloody hell!"

A gentile string of giggles floated upon his ears from the far corner of the living room. His cringing, narrow eyes focused in on her as he brought his thick arms down to leer at her angrily. Once again, she was mocking him!

"Do you like it? It finally looks like a real living room!" Bulma giddily exclaimed before folding her arms and gloating proudly, "I have truly outdone myself. Huh Veget-"

Next thing she knew, her back made a thudding contact with the wall that knocked the wind out of her more out of surprise than actual pain. Fierce orbs of black that swam with a feral rage were piercing through her wide eyes. A warm, calloused hand was covering her mouth and almost her airways. Bulma's chest heaved with the limited ability to breathe, or even think, as it suddenly dawned on her that she was in quite the life-jeopardizing predicament.

Vegeta was livid; his entire upper body was moving up and down as if he had just ran a marathon to get to her and pin her to the wall with his ferocious anger. His body emanated an enormous heat into her body that felt like an impending volcanic eruption waiting to engulf her shaking body. She trembled with fear, her previous elation completely faded as trepidation and shock rolled over her. She couldn't move her eyes away from his, the electric tension between them building into the most riveting moment of her life.

"I could kill you..."

His whispered words strayed into the thick air like a wavering threat that he purposely held over to regain control of the situation. He'd had enough embarrassment for one day. She nodded duly.

"..Hm."

After surveying her gigantic orbs of blue, the silky tendrils of her turquoise locks, and the perfect porcelain complexion of her face, he reluctantly concluded that she was, in fact, the most beautiful thing in this horrendous place.

Swallowing away the thought, he slowly brought his hands down to his sides and backed away. Bulma felt air return to her lungs, but only in a short-lived moment of relief when the lights went completely out again and Bulma let out a shrieking scream. There was a magnificent pounding against the wall that Vegeta had just had her pinned to, and he grabbed her just in time before the gigantic object rammed straight into it, presumably leaving a dent.

The slams got smaller and smaller as Vegeta blocked Bulma's small body with his own, causing her to note at the irony that he had just had her in a life compromising position not a moment before. Finally, when nothing but Bulma's breath was the only sound in the room, Bulma meekly stepped away from Vegeta and his protective grasp to reach for the lights- much to her regret.

There, in the middle of the once decorated living room, was the bloodied corpse of suspended from a rope amidst the clutter of Bulma's hopeful decorations.

* * *

Ooooh I even freaked myself out with that one. Wth! Reviewwwww please.

~Jckash03


	9. United

Hey folks! Sorry for the kinda long wait. I've been swamped in work and homework, the usual excuses blah de blah. Let's get this shiz started! By the way, thanks to ALL of you who have reviewed and keep reviewing. Thank you so much. I love getting at least three reviews per chapter for me to update again. And not just review but the special adds to favorite author/story as well! You guys rock!

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

Bulma felt gravity snatch her body to the floor at the sight of her father drenched in blood as he hung from the ceiling, suspended from a mere rope that was tied around his neck. Tears filled her eyes to the brim at the mere tragedy that the unexpected image brought forth in her, this piercing melancholy that made her want to scream and cry all at once. But alas, no sound came from her mouth as her mournful eyes fixated on that horrible, sorrowful expression on the corpse's face.

The corpse that was her own father, and the once decorated living room that was once again disheveled.

"Bulma! It's not real! You must shut your eyes!" She heard Vegeta's booming voice as if it were miles away from her. Her entire world, whatever she had made of it before, had collapsed as hard as she had onto the ground. Her body lay slack against Vegeta's arms as he propped her up, her eyes unfocused and draining of moisture as the tears sprang down her cheeks in an ongoing flow. Vegeta was still attempting to pick her up by her underarms when he heard a small chuckling from the direction of the hanging body.

He looked up to see the diabolical grin of Frieza, the head butler that had served Bulma and her parents before they so tragically died and Bulma disappeared. Frieza himself was not in too good of a shape, having the same hundred degree burns all over his body that Vegeta also had on some parts of his.

"It's no use, boy. She will be gone all over again, soon. I will make sure of that..."

They were about to fade away when Bulma suddenly looked up, lunging her body forward to grab a hold of her father's dead body. Frieza's face turned from disgust to outrage as Bulma clung to her father for dear life. Blood spread itself all over her and her clothes, but she didn't even seem to notice as she wrapped her arms around his legs like a toddler not willing to see her parent leave. That's when Frieza began his dark chuckling again, not allowing Bulma another spare moment longer as he and began to dissipate into thin air.

Bulma dropped again to the floor, painting it with the crimson that was still all over her clothes. Hot tears reproduced themselves in her burning eyes, forever tainted by that image of her dead father suspended from his very death as she fell to the carpetted floor.

Vegeta cursed under his breath, feeling the concrete paralysis take over his body all over again. But he knew he could not swing or kill the monster physically all over again. It was all Frieza's will if he wanted that to happen or not. Shaking his head after the two images of Frieza and the hanging slowly faded away, he picked Bulma up and dragged her up the stairs slow, trying not to injure her limp body with the creaking staircase, as its age provided it with many splinters to stab her with.

But she was already wounded. Seeing her father like that had scarred her inside, somehow. However, at this point Bulma was unaware of anything. She could not feel, could not think, and certainly could not breathe. She was only dimly aware of Vegeta pulling on a faucet to start running steaming water in a bathtub, not fully sure of how she got there. She felt woozy, her head clouded by the force of what she had just experienced. Her conscious was fading in and out, white turning to black and then regaining the sight before her of Vegeta drawing a bath. She wasn't even fully aware as to why he was doing so.

Vegeta stopped. How was he supposed to take off her clothes? He shook his head vehemently; he wouldn't. He simply couldn't. He could barely touch her, his fingers tentatively raising to make contact with the surface of her blood-streaked skin that still managed to shine with its porcelain texture. He kept his onyx orbs away from her as he wrapped both arms around her torso and somehow got her into the tub without further hurting her. Sighing, he watched her as her head bobbed slightly in the wafts of semi-consciousness and shock. He felt a horrible guilt bubble within him, not only because it reminded him of his pushing her out of the window, but because he couldn't do anything to stop that from reducing her to absolutely nothing. He turned off the water and walked out of the bathroom, away from her.

He let out the breath that he wasn't aware of holding as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He felt such a physical and mental exhaust from that evening's horrific event that he felt himself, as well, fall to the ground with his knees to his chest. He remembered her poor chest as it rose and fell with pitiful attempts to regain oxygen. He couldn't stop the painful stabs of guilt to his chest with every image of her conjured in his mind: her body engulfed by a sheet of snow, her collapsed form kneeling on the carpet before the spot from which her father was hung, and her lifeless body in the bathtub, losing the fight to stay awake.

He himself, too, was losing the fight against sleep as the images turned into a memory, somewhere far away in the back of his mind. It was from the very beginning of his stay in that mansion, when Frieza had first brought him there when he was a boy. He had been trying to adjust, but a mischeivous lad of his caliber wasn't going to do so without a fight. He remembered a beautiful, blue ballroom, and a single grand piano in the middle of the pinewood tiled floor with navy blue drapes falling to brush across it from the windows.

_And a girl. Aquamarine locks long with wide curls at the bottom of their tendrils, calling out to him as her back was turned. She was too busy playing on the piano to notice or even hear him, her small, delicate hands moving swiftly and gracefully over the large keys. She was playing it fast, a little too fast for Vegeta's aristocatic tastes. He stepped again, slowly, towards her. There was no movement in her head, only her torso as her arms reached for the far off keys on either side of the piano, which made her hair sway only the slightest bit that sent a betraying shiver up Vegeta's spine._

_The nine-year-old boy allowed the echoing ring of the music to surround him through his eardrums as it overwhelmed his senses with its powerful euphonic magic. There was nothing better than the music that a grand piano produced; after all, it was Vegeta's own mother who had mastered it and played for him since the moment he had been conceived._

_But the small boy mentally turned away from memories such as those. He shut out the image of his mother, with her long mane of ashen hair swaying as softly as this young girl's to the music when it was turbulent and even when it was sad. His mother had always been so expressive, so emotive through that music and he could still feel her in that very room with the small girl and her blue hair. Shaking his head ruefully, he resumed his trail to the little female as she continued on playing "Fur Elise" to its fullest power._

_Finally inches away from her back, a strong smirk presented itself on the youth's sharp features. He slowly raised a hand, taking two fingers and barely allowing it to brush against the feather-soft texture of the prepubescent skin of her neck, unadulterated by age or time. Suddenly, the music stopped and Vegeta himself froze with his finger still in place. She did not flinch, or even turn around, much to his shock. He blinked, the unexpected surprise rising in him like a sour bile that one hadn't anticipated. He suddenly felt a bundle of nervous butterflies unleash in the pit of his stomach._

_"Why did you do that?" Came the inquisitive wail of the young girl's high-pitched voice. The echoing question reverberated through the ballroom and into his ears, prickling with a tinge of shock and disgust with himself for even attempting this._

_He stepped back, his undeveloped voice stammering an array of weak and unattempted responses. "I-I.. didn't!"_

_"Hehe, silly.. I liked how that feels." She stated happily, as only a precocious five-year-old could. Vegeta's eyebrows burrowing and his face contorted into a state of confusion and wonder. What is up with this girl? Does she have no fear at all?_

_That's when she turned around, her abnormally wide, cerulean eyes swallowing him whole with their shining exuberance and beaming innocence. And no, they held zero intimidation by the fact that she had never seen the boy before. In fact, she acted as if she had known him her entire life. A bright smile curved her lips upward in slow motion, forever engraving the process into his spinning head. _

_"Oh, there they are! They've already met, it seems. Well, Bulma, how do you like this young chap?"_

_Bulma looked up at her father and mother as they approached the two. Bulma grinned, happy to see them, as if she were to say something. Instead, she turned again to resume her playing on the piano._

_"Well, I will take that as a yes! Ha ha ha ho..."_

_Vegeta ignored the old man's glee at his daughter's response, or lack thereof, focusing his narrowed eyes in on her long, blue hair that curved upon itself in its wide curl. He still felt the tip of his fingers tingle with a strange, peppered stimulation as the image of them hovering next to the skin of her neck flashed back into his mind, causing a bold stirring in his lower mid-section that he had yet to understand. _

_And yet, he still wanted nothing more than to touch those silken tresses, and not just to see what she would do either. After so much tragedy and loss in his young life already, he guessed, anything that was soft and beautiful became his downfall- his one desire to possess._

Suddenly, a scream erupted from the young girl's mouth. But it was not her high pitch of childhood any longer, it was that of a woman's. Vegeta felt himself being pulled instantly, as if he was being transferred to another reality. He woke up sitting, with his knees bent to his chest, against a rotten, old door that used to be white. He shot up from his sitting position and began to slam and pound as much as he could.

"Woman! What in the- Woman!"

The door was locked, forced shut by whatever was in there with her.

* * *

Bulma was easily graced by sleep in the large bathtub that Vegeta had placed her in dutifully. The iron stench of blood that soaked her no longer repulsed her nostrils as she fell into the depths of her mind and swam through the tides of unconsciousness. Her arm laid slack on the edge of the bathtub, her body completely reclined. She had never felt heavier before, as if everything and more was weighing down on her that evening. It mustn't have been something like midnight at that point. Not even time existed for Bulma as she slept so soundly in that time-rotten yet spacious bathroom.

But with eyes closed, she didn't see the grotesque, purple-headed man who suddenly appeared next to the bathtub, concealed by the curtain next to her should she ever open her turquoise orbs to see. But she didn't, and he banked on that. Finally, he would get his revenge. He was able to reach out, with a smirk on his face, and lead a moldy, blackened fingernail up her arm. Bulma barely stirred, her head wavering about slightly. Frieza stopped, just in case she would awaken from the tiny touch.

"Why did you do that...?"

He froze. Did she know he was there? Nevertheless, he kept his composure, ready for anything, especially that intrusive little fuck of a Prince that she had with her in the mansion. He closed his eyes, able to see, very vaguely, the surface of what she was seeing in her mind. Realizing that she was simply dreaming a memory, he decided to play along and make the opportunity his plaything.

She would be his plaything. Just like old times...

He slowly approached her ear with his cracked, purple lips before whispering in his deep, rasping voice in a falsely saccharine tone, "I didn't..."

The voice's proximity and its texture, like an aged velvet, proceeded to stir Bulma enough that her eyes opened just enough to see the horrendous monster next to her. Before she could belt out a scream, his hand shot out to grab her neck as she immediately stood and tried to get away from him. He missed, allowing her to release a wailing scream. Water splashed everywhere as she tried to push the monster away from her, but he grabbed hold of her neck and pinned her to the tiled wall.

Then there was pounding on the door. She could hear Vegeta calling out to her, but she couldn't even breathe to reply to him. Her blue eyes swam with frightened tears as they watched the disgusting face of the villain, scrunched up in a murderous disgust at her. He then smiled creepily, waving the other hand in front of her face with the pointer finger exposed, showing off his nasty fingernail before plunging it downward.

Bulma's eyes followed it until she realized what he was going to do with it. She squeezed her eyes shut as the fingernail sliced an opening in the middle of her jeans where her pant legs met. She felt a strange, sick wave of nausea run through her as she could sense the tip of his finger gently hovering over her mound.

"Does this feel GOOD? HUH? Does it?" He screamed at her, his putrid saliva shooting out onto her face. Her hands were wrapped around his wrist trying to get him off, but it was no use.

Just as she felt his finger push a little bit harder than before, the door to the bathroom busted open. Frieza spun around, shock written on his deformed face, released his hold and finger from Bulma. She took a gasping breath, her eyes raising with vigor to see Vegeta throw his fist into the monster without a second thought. Unfortunately, the horrible being was too quick, catching the fist and throwing Vegeta to the ground without releasing it, thus breaking his arm. Vegeta cried out in a horrible pain, his eyes wide and bloodshot with pain and anger.

"You fucking bastard, I will kill you!"

Vegeta got himself up with his other arm, sending a hand to the monster's neck and pinning him to the wall as he had done with Bulma. The monster laughed, standing there and allowing Vegeta to pull it off for a few seconds to mock him before sending Vegeta into the wall. Vegeta had to regain himself first before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a shiny object that Bulma couldn't make out in her dizzied state.

"Heh.. I've been waiting for this chance, Frieza. A face like yours could blind somebody!"

Vegeta shoved the object into the air, pointing it at Frieza, who immediately groaned in rose into the air from Frieza's head as he held his face in his hands. Then, he disappeared, having had enough of Vegeta's torment. Vegeta slumped down the wall of the bathroom, holding his arm in pain. Bulma felt a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach; Vegeta had actually saved her...

Bulma got out of the tub, still soaked with water and blood, and knelt down next to the man before her. His charcoal eyes reached her, a question raised in them. She smiled softly, "Thank you.."

He shook his head, replying in his rough voice that cracked with exertion to maintain the pain of his arm, "The bastard had it coming."

Bulma nodded, letting her hand lay on his upper bicep of his broken arm. Surprise etched itself into Vegeta's expression at the touch, and then he remembered the dream.

She smiled even wider at him, "I liked how that feels."

He gaped at her, and for a second, Bulma saw the tinge of reminiscent memory in his onyx orbs, before his eyelids fell shut and his body went slack. To be sure, Bulma felt his pulse and smiled to herself, remembering the boy who was shocked at her lack of fear. She could only hope that she could remember the girl who feared nothing back then.

* * *

When Vegeta woke up, it was early morning. He was in his bed, in his bedroom, and his arm felt nothing. In fact, it was covered in absolutely numbness. He looked down to see that it had been put in a cast. He blinked in confusion. How had the woman done this?

He tried to get up, sitting up slowly at first as flashbacks of that eventful night came back to him. That's when he saw her, asleep on the floor next to him with nothing but a blanket underneath her that had been moth-eaten a long time ago. With all the holes on it, it seemed as if she were sleeping on a sheet of provolone cheese. Vegeta felt a glimmer of amusement at his strange humor, but remembered the horror she had gone through the night before. And yet, she had nursed his wounds and carried him to bed.

He shook his head in amazement. Then, he realized she wasn't wearing the same blood-covered clothes as before. She had on a gown of some sort, probably something she had dug from the depths of the closets in the house.

Probably something that had once been her mother's.

As if she could sense his consciousness, she stirred from her sleep, stretched wildly and yawned loudly. Vegeta watched in sheer amusement at her quirky method of waking up. She noticed him staring through sleepy eyes and smiled as if half-asleep or drunk.

"Morning, Vegeta.." She slurred, fatigue wearing her down again.

"Are you actually ... comfortable there?"

She blinked, "No. But I didn't want to um.. you know.. encroach."

Vegeta scoffed, "Woman, that has already been achieved."

Bulma face-faulted, "Harhar. This is actually MY house you know, so that's actually not even possible."

He stopped, his eyes peering into hers, making her stop as well to stare back.

"What..? What is it? Something wrong?"

He shook his head curtly, looking down and then back up to her curious orbs, "No. I just.. I wish you didn't have to do this."

He motioned to his arm. "Oh!" Bulma exclaimed,"Yeah, I had to go into town and get some medical supplies. I acted like they were for me, hehe. But no, don't be sorry! I mean.. You yourself had to drag me into a bathtub for crying out loud-"

"Woman, you were catatonic... Of course, after what you saw..."

Bulma's face sobered as his words brought back the visual. Sighing, she replied, "Look, that's no excuse. I should have known he would kill himself after what he went through with me disappearing."

Vegeta's eyes trailed away, hinting that he knew something. She raised an eyebrow.

"He... didn't commit suicide. Did he?"

Vegeta shook his head, still not looking at her.

"Ah." Bulma nodded her head slowly, "Good to know this Frieza guy is full of tricks up his sleeve."

"Woman. My parents were found dead as well.. Before I ever came to this place."

Her eyes shot up to his, almost in disbelief, as she realized that he was actually revealing something to her.

"I was not born a slave, or a servant. In fact, I was born of royalty in the Eastern Hemisphere. There, I would be considered what you call a Prince."

Bulma's eyes widened. A Prince? What was he doing here still, then?

"But with both my parents killed, the country would have believed it was I who did it for the sake of inheriting my riches. Not knowing it was Frieza who had killed them himself, I fled the country with him and we landed here. I just.. never knew I had left my family to spend the rest of my life fighting a serial killer. I was such a fool! I have waited and wandered these grounds for twenty years, wanting nothing more than the revenge that I deserve.. That my parents deserve. And yours, woman. Yours as well."

Enraptured by his fervent monologue, Bulma never took her eyes off of him. "We will. We'll do it together..."

Her hand landed on top of his own and the two pairs of eyes made contact before breaking to stare at the two hands touching. An awkward moment of tension and not knowing what to do next came and went between them. Bulma cleared her throat, taking her hand and the moment away with her.

"I'm uh.. going to go make some coffee. I think both of us could use some."

Vegeta nodded, watching her closely. To his amazement, the corner of his lip kicked up in satisfaction. Perhaps the woman was not here for selfish reasons alone. He glanced down at his arm, and didn't doubt it at all.

* * *

PHEW. Awesome. I'm itching to write a love scene but it's gonna take time and development and blahblahblah. You have to be so careful and tedious with B/V's sometimes because if it's too soon it ruins the story. If it's too early, you haven't made the wonderful readers anticipate it enough! UGH. So anyway. That _WILL _be in the future though.:) Who said there can't be lemon in a Supernatural fic?

Muahahahahaaha.!

Until next time.

~Jckash03


	10. Memories

Alright time for more sunshine and romance. :) Right? Haha.

Well, the romance is finally in full bloom so here we go...

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

Vegeta watched her from the corner next to the giant window of the attic as he reclined with his back against the wall, a muscled arm lazing over his hiked up knee. He couldn't stop glancing at the cracks in the window pane from which Bulma descended to an unexpected injury onto a blanket of snow before looking away with shame and regret. Each time, his eyes would land on her, watching her as she was enveloped in the complete focus of examining each paper and artifact that she could find. Exploring was definitely a passion for Bulma, and this subject matter was more than just important- it was crucial. He could see the deliberate intent in her eyes, the flow of purpose in every motion she took.

He felt a strange surge of an uplifting sensation in his chest watching her dive into each and every document she could get her hands and eyes on. Was it admiration? Respect? He wasn't sure, but it made him shift uncomfortably and clear his throat. Moments later, a delayed reaction from Bulma startled him almost, as if she knew of his internal conflict with his feelings.

"Hm? What? Did something happen?" She questioned with raised eyebrows and eyes as wide as dinner plates. He shook his head.

"Nothing, woman. Just keep studying-"

"Oh my gosh, Vegeta! Look at this..."

She got up and handed him the very official piece of paper, elegant script shaping the names of her parents at the very top, numbers and properties scattered across the page in lists. It was a accountant's summary of their estates, and, ultimately, their net worth. His eyes snapped up to her unfocused, cerulean gaze onto the floor, her chest heaving slowly as disbelief hit her like a semi-truck.

"They were so... So..-"

"Rich, woman. Your parents were grotesquely loaded."

Bulma looked away, as if she were suddenly ashamed, and folded her arms as she did so. Vegeta cocked his head.

"Don't sit there and think you were the only one out of the two of us to have a fortune."

He could tell she was taken aback, her eyebrows knitting in a pending anger at his statement, "What's that supposed to mean?"

His arms automatically folded, accompanied by his lascivious smirk, "No need to feel ashamed for who you truly are, woman."

Her expression softened, a hint of sympathy sparking in her turquoise orbs as they melted through him, "I know, but.. You can't even access yours. You're not even allowed in your own country..."

"It doesn't matter," He snapped curtly, his face falling back into its usual stone, "I am of royal blood, an aristocratic descent... That is all I need."

With that, he got up and stalked out of the room away from her, slamming the door shut behind him and causing the entire room to shake briefly. A box had fallen in the trembling, revealing a very aged photograph. Curiosity peaking, Bulma dipped to examine it with wet eyes as she realized it was a picture of her parents, as happy and exuberant as ever.

But they were not the only ones in the picture.

Next to her father, with arms around him, was Frieza. Unmarred and in a black, unaltered suit, he beamed with a grin that most would deem creepy or malicious at the least. Bulma's head began to shake slowly, anger rising up within her but the impending sobs of grief for her parents overcame it. An overwhelming wave of pain ran through her, something sharp and deep that she couldn't identify. After so many years of bottling the fact that she knew that there was something missing in her life, and then coming to find that it was two wonderful, nurturing people whom she would never see or meet again tore at her.

Beneath that picture was another. Her mother, a beautiful, curly blond with huge blue eyes sparkling with mirth and pure contentment with life, beaming at the camera with skinny arms wrapped around the neck of a joyous, little girl, embracing her from behind with her face right next to the girl's, their cheeks connecting. Bulma absently ran her fingertips down her cheek, as if to feel the warmth that must have been there from the contact while two crystalline teardrops fell from her eyes, wet with building tears.

Suddenly, there was a creak at the door, and Bulma spun around just in time to see the back of Vegeta's tall spiky hair, which not only relieved the stabbing spike of adrenaline and fear in her, but caused her to jump up and run after him, both pictures lying on the attic floor.

But what she did not see, was both pictures morphing into the nightmarish version of Frieza's ill will.

"Hey! Wait!" Bulma ran to him as he held his back turned to her, the daylight gleaming off of his beige crew shirt that tightly molded to the sculpted tone of his back muscles and triceps. When he barely turned his head back to reveal a side-glancing eye, she stopped breathlessly. She caught the spark of embarrassment in his eyes, but it vanished as his annoyance took over.

"What do you want now, woman?" He growled in his gruff voice. She regained her composure, standing straight and peering into his eyes with shining blues, wet with oncoming tears. He knew instantly this wasn't going to be an easy one.

She took in a cleansing breath, closing her eyes briefly and then opening them as a tear released itself down her porcelain cheek. He fought the urge to look at it, let alone reach out. He had heard her quiet sobs, witnessed the display of her grief and sadness for her parents. Unfortunately, he was well too familiar with the feeling.

"I know you saw me in there... That you were watching. It's okay.. Really."

He said nothing, continuing to gaze at her with reluctant anticipation.

"But I need to know.. What do you remember about my mother? My father? ... Me?"

He looked down, blinking before gulping audibly. She sensed his discomfort immediately, watching as his intricate muscles clenched.

"Woman, I don't really remember much at all."

Again, he walked away, leaving her in the hallway with welled up tears and suffocating sobs that she refused to let out.

She sank to the floor, feeling lost more than ever. She wanted so much to hear, see, and even touch her parents. To know them. To have them. It felt like the only desire in the entire world to her. It was so strange to have lost something and never know what it was, yet to want it so much... She was filled with yearning and melancholy, finally letting her tears spill onto the palms of her hands as she cupped her scrunched face, contorting in a body-wracking sob.

And so she sat there, on the wooden floor of the upstairs near the staircase, crying for nearly half an hour. She felt like nobody, as if her identity had been stolen by her. Hopeless, she grew so weary and tired that she eventually had no more tears to shed and no energy to conjure them any longer. She had cried enough. She felt like less than a woman for her emotional display, her weakness, and she knew Vegeta would have no part in it. 'That is exactly what he would think, too' she thought bitterly, 'He would say I am too weak to continue this...'

Suddenly, a television turned on in the bedroom that belonged to Vegeta. She blinked, hoping to Kami that it was not a demonized figment of her imagination, or even another debacle with Frieza. She looked around for Vegeta, anxiety building within her like a pressure cooker.

"Vegeta..? Vegeta!"

Nothing.

She got up, sniffling away the residue of her crying spree, and made her way to the bedroom slowly. She heard a tinny noise coming from the electronic device, and then a sort of laughter. Laughter? Well that can't be too bad, she concluded.

Laying her small hands on the doorway, she peeked in to see a very black and white old movie playing on the television screen. But it was no movie. As she inched closer, eventually kneeling right before it, she realized with a kind of exhilarating enlightenment that the two people she was watching on the screen were her very parents.

Before her was a home video from nearly two decades ago. She sat in silent marvel, watching as her father exclaimed his jokes and two cents at every little turn of the conversation at hand. Her dolled up mother played her part and allowed herself the charade of bursting with laughter at his every word. But she saw more than the facade of their livening the party- she saw love. Her parents would always take a moment to stop and stare into each other's eyes, and then her father would put his heavily ringed hand on her mother's to squeeze for only a second that no one else seemed to notice.

No one else except Bulma.

A warmed smile stretched itself across Bulma's face as tears once again sprang to her glittering eyes. Then, a small child of about four came into view, wearing a poufy, pink dress embroidered with lace and velvet came into the screen. Everyone turned to watch as she came to the table with eager eyes and an excited smile as all attention was on her. Her mother doted on her, running manicured hands through her bangs. But the most heartwrenching moment was when the toddler looked up at 's with wide, loving eyes full of admiration and love before he swooped her up into his arms and laid her on his shoulder, joking about her almost being too big to be perched there and that he would have to get a kitten to replace her someday.

A jovial, bell-tone laugh emitted from the child's mouth before the film cut out, ending Bulma's virtual reunion with her parents.

"Still have just as loud of a mouth these days," Came a deep, rough voice, startling Bulma out of her reminiscent reverie. She turned to see his shadowed figure leaning against the wall of his bedroom directly behind her.

She swallowed, feeling ashamed for her actions earlier. "I'm sor-"

"Don't. It's... a natural occurrence."

She looked up at him, surprised, "What do you mean?"

Rolling his eyes, he replied with impatience at that recurring question, "I mean that grieving the death of your parents is not something to be ashamed of, you moronic woman."

She considered his answer, finally letting out a small laugh through her nose and shaking her head at the irony of him calling her an insulting name after telling her that it was okay. Still, she felt there was more beneath the surface to this ordeal, and to him.

"Come on, Vegeta... Come closer."

His eyes widened a bit as he watched her motion to his bed.

"Oh please. I won't bite. I'm not the monster here, remember?"

A darkness swept over his onyx orbs at her statement, replying with a "Hm" as he complied and sat on the opposite edge of the bed.

"So.. What Frieza did was, he would find rich families and take their money after killing them?"

"Not exactly. Money was a part of it, but the biggest was a recruitment."

"A recruitment?" Bulma sank, all attention focused on Vegeta's stoic expression as he nodded.

"Unfortunately. Frieza was intent on creating an army of his own. An army of children who did not, and could not, remember their past lives as he ruined them, so that they became empty shells for him to use and control and dominate. Soon, it would have been the entire world under his demand."

Bulma tilted her head, "The entire world?"

"I stopped him. After what he did to your parents, I realized that he had done the same to my own... I slaughtered him as best as I could, catching him off guard, before dousing him with gasoline and setting his battered body to a torch!" Vegeta spat, a passionate fury evident in his fiery eyes and his raised voice and fist.

"So.. How did he survive then?" Bulma inquired as Vegeta sank a little bit lower, sobered by the heavy question.

"The evil in him was still alive. It was so powerful that it consumed the house as soon as you ran away."

Bulma froze. "I ran away?"

He nodded.

"To.. To where? Who took me in?"

"You remember. Try. I cannot tell you everything. In fact, it is about time to sleep..."

Bulma sighed, feeling that overwhelming wave of hopelessness again. Silence befell them as she wracked her memory bank.

Then it came to her, her head raising out from her hands. "The orphanage..."

"Yes."

Bulma's eyes skipped to his, "I was raised in an orphanage, and they would take us to different houses to try to sell us. I remember falling in love with the houses, not the families. I remember being so fascinated by them and wondering if one was mine before we even stepped out of the car..."

"Hence your profession."

Her eyes widened at his connection between the two, taken back slightly. "Wow... Yeah, I guess so."

Vegeta's eyes darted around the room, searching for any excuse to end the inquiry into everything. He felt raw, like he had just released too much information to this woman. And yet, he felt fulfilled in a way, that he had served a higher purpose by even having her here, let alone informing her of what her and even himself had gone through.

"Well, I believe it's time to-" He started, stammering slightly.

"Vegeta?" Came the inevitable bell-tone question.

"What?"

"Can I sleep here tonight...? I really don't think either of us being alone is, you know, a good idea..."

His expression sobered, his eyes falling to the ground and then back to her in consideration.

"I suppose, woman, but I guarantee you no sleep."

"How come?" Bulma tilted her head inquisitively.

He scoffed, smirking. "I snore like a dying animal."

Bulma let out a small giggle, a grin resulting that seemed to brighten the dark room that had nothing but the blue glow from the television screen. "That's fine. I'll take it over being alone in this house any night."

* * *

_A nine-year-old Vegeta stepped out of the black, parked vehicle to lift a sullen face to the giant, gleaming house before him. Its white exterior was blinding in the early morning sunlight, causing his heavily sleep-deprived eyes to have to adjust to its shining texture. It seemed unreal, as if out of a dream that exaggerated the sparkling the house some sort of fantasy. To snap him out of his trance, the always tyrannical lizard laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, as if to remind him who was there to be in charge._

_He shoved away the building resentment like an acidic bile rising in his throat, just as he did with all the other overwhelming emotions that followed the horrific event of his own parents being brutally assassinated before his eyes. He could hardly keep the image from interjecting itself into his mind's eye, their lifeless eyes and thick puddles of blood beneath their limp bodies. His mother's embroidered dress so elegant and evident of their majesty tainted with stains of maroon and tattered from the obvious struggle she gave to protect and preserve her own life. Not just for herself, but for her son, who was now in the possession of the perpetrator himself._

_Vegeta stepped forth onto the perfectly cut blanket of grass, feeling alien and out of his element as he did so despite the fact that he was worth much more than the property onto which he ventured. He looked around and saw nothing but sunlight pouring its illuminating rays onto the ethereal shades of green and red that signified spring. Flowers reached out to its magnetic solar flare, leaves hung contently from tall, fully bloomed trees. Birds cheerily chirped throughout the yard, singing their joyful tune of harmony and sync with nature. _

_Vegeta had never felt so alienated in his nine years of life._

_Suddenly, the front door opened to reveal a man and a woman walking out to them. There was obviously another person behind the woman, because she kept turning to make a tugging motion with a sweet smile and warming words of encouragement. Vegeta heard the subtle, sardonic chuckle underneath the breath of the butler next to him, trying to suppress the sudden pity he felt for the approaching family._

_"Why hello there! You must be Frederick. I'm , or you can call me Sonny. This is my wife, Bunny, and my daughter who is currently hiding behind her named Bulma."_

_The woman deemed Bunny let out a tiny giggle as two hands appeared on the front of her white pant-legs from behind, a curious face underneath an array of light blue curls revealing itself around them before she turned and ran away without saying a word to either Frieza or Vegeta. He sent a side-glance to the butler beside him. Frederick? Why a fake name?_

_"What a shy girl she must be. That is okay. I have a way of making children warm to me..." The butler said with only Vegeta catching the malicious glint in his dark eyes. chuckled._

_"Well that's good. Bulma can be a bit bashful at times. I believe she's off to run to her little piano now. How about we all go in and have a delicious cup of lemonade my wife prepared? She only loves to make it every time we have visitors, and sometimes even without!"_

_Frieza let out a fake string of guffaws, "This is such a beautiful place, however, I do not blame those who wish to frequent it regularly."_

_"Oh why thank you Mr. Frederick! I am so glad you think so!" exclaimed Ms. Briefs. Vegeta followed stoically behind them, feeling the impending sense of doom overcome him as he entered the brightly designed house. _

_After going up the front steps, he found himself in a small meeting room with a coat-rack on one side and a mirror on the opposite wall. Turning to explore his surroundings as Frieza exchanged more facetious pleasantries, he saw that a huge staircase faced him, with it splitting at the top into two different sets of stairs going opposite directions. There was a spacious living room at his left and a kitchen beyond that, with a room that he presumed to be some sort of ballroom encased in crimson walls with a beautiful chandelier hanging from its tall, burgundy ceiling on his right, a large dining room filled with intricate paintings, candles, and a grand table in the middle past it through another doorway. _

_As he stood and examined his new environment, the three adults had moved on up the stairs to show the butler around. Vegeta felt no desire to follow them whatsoever. All the elegance and luxury the house represented was making it difficult for Vegeta to keep those tense feelings of melancholy and grief away. He opened the front door and stepped outside again, enveloped in the cool breeze and showering sunlight. His gaze turned to his side to the array of giant trees that extended to the side of the house and beyond. Feeling a need to escape, he stalked his way down the steps and to the trees, wishing he could camouflage and hide there forever._

_He stopped at a certain tree that seemed to be in the very center of a circle of trees. Close to his reach was a deadened area of the trunk where a branch used to be. He ran a hand over its orifice to find his hand covered in its gooey sap. His face contorted in surprised disgust as he held his hand out in front of him, not wanting to soil his clothes with it. _

_Then there was poorly stifled giggling._

_He immediately spun around to see the young girl, her hands to her mouth as her eyes were shut in the mirth of laughter and finding humor in his misfortune. He face-panned, scoffing at her childish reverie and proceeded to wipe his hand on the scratchy exterior of the trunk, forcing a terrified gasp out of the child._

_"You can't do that!"_

_He scoffed again before remarking in a sneer, "And who says?"_

_Her wide, cerulean eyes watered slightly, causing a glittering well of tears to form in them, "Because! If you wipe a tree's blood on it, then it will never grow its branch back!"_

_Rolling his eyes, the young Prince stalked over to her, causing her to cower a little at his proximity. "You truly believe that horseshit, little girl?"_

_Then her expression contorted into angered bewilderment at his blatant use of slang, "Hey! You said a bad wor-"_

_"Hush. You open your mouth way too much for as young as you are. How old are you anyway?" Vegeta inquired with a toneless voice, not really caring one way or another but this little spitfire invoked a curiosity in him that he welcomed as a distraction against the other feelings he had been experiencing lately._

_"This many!" She eagerly held up five fingers, causing Vegeta to smirk. _

_"You're just a kid. You don't know what is truly bad... Yet."_

_The little girl frowned, not liking the idea of anything bad. She'd had a privileged life with the honor of financial luxuries and two loving parents thus far. Vegeta felt a pang of guilt having said what he did, but even he knew that Frieza had more in mind than actually serving her and her family._

_The little girl swallowed audibly, "Well I don't think you're bad. You're a kid, too, just like me!"_

_Vegeta's sharp gaze snapped to hers, narrowing his eyes malevolently, "Never assume anything about me, little girl. You know nothing. Now scram. I wanted to be alone out here..."_

_She blinked, her face clear of all expression as her innocence shone through his hasty demeanor, "Alone? Why would you want to be alone?"_

_"To think," He replied curtly. She bent to pick a flower out of the ground and went forward to Vegeta, who watched her with wide, startled eyes as she proceeded to place it in the tall, thick spikes of his hair. She jumped up and grinned._

_"Wow, so pretty!"_

_Growling, he pulled it out of his hair and stomped on it. The girl's face fell a thousand degrees south as she watched with a tormenting display of dismay his brutalization of the flower she had picked for him. Suddenly, another melting blanket of guilt swept over him as he watched her sadness grow into an impending sob. Wanting anything but to hear it, he came up with something that would be even better than some stupid flower._

_He found a nearby rock and began to carve into the tree that was the center of other trees. However, he paused as he raised it to the tree, not knowing at all what to right. _

_"What's your name?" Was her newest, bell-tone inquiry as she watched with distraction from the previous, tragic event of the flower stomping. A smirk graced his dark features as he began to shape a P into the trunk. He halted after making a vertical line, remembering suddenly that he was no longer a Prince. Sadness washed over him briefly before he set it aside, making another line that collided into the first line, this one diagonal, forming a single V. Adding the e, the g, another e, a t, and another a, he turned to watched her as she squinted her oceanic orbs to interpret what he had shaped into the tree._

_"Veh... geet.. ah?" She sounded out slowly before combining it in her five-year-old understanding, "Vegeta?"_

_He nodded, attempting to regain the smirk that had been present before recalling his loss of his title. _

_"Well," She began, her chest rising as she proclaimed, "My name is Bulma. Bee-yoo-el-em-ay."_

_Sighing, he forced himself to carve her name underneath his in big, capital letters, then looking at her as disapproval etched into her youthful features._

_"Aren't you gonna do a heart?" She chirped. A sarcastic laugh escaped from Vegeta's gaping mouth, echoing through the trees. "Hey! Why not?"_

_He stopped, giving her a glare. "I am not some prissy little girl such as yourself. You do a stupid heart if you see fit."_

_With that, he walked away, dropping the rock to the ground in front of her feet. Stomping and letting out an exasperated groan, the little girl ran past him into the house, her long, silken mane of amethyst flying behind her into the wisps of the wind. Vegeta watched as it swayed violently with her jog to the front door, and its bounces as she went up the steps. Hypnotized, he followed her with nothing but that hair at the focus of his attention._

And it was the following morning, after this very dream that was actually a distant memory long forgotten in the throes of supernatural happenings at the mansion, that Vegeta caught himself once again staring at that same mane of soft, turquoise locks that spilled onto the floor of blankets and pillows while the female they belonged to snored in her unconscious slumber.

'And I thought I was a noisy sleeper', He thought sarcastically. Underneath, he didn't mind it at all. He was actually relieved by the fact that she was getting sleep in this horrible place. Sleep was the only time that they truly acquired peace, and even then it was a struggle due to recurring nightmares and vivid memories of murder and fire.

She began to stir a little underneath his metallic gaze, her hands raising up above her head as she stretched her lithe body. Vegeta felt the impulse to turn his head away, a heat making itself present in his cheeks. Unable to understand why, he grew frustrated with himself and got out of bed before she could see him. But it was a little too late, for he heard her normally bell-tone voice thick with grogginess call after him.

"Morning, Vegeta..." She let out a monstrous yawn before resting her big, cerulean orbs on him, "Where you off to?"

"Hm. None of your business." He said, barely gazing with a slight annoyance at her with his back to her. She frowned.

"Wow, someone got out of bed cranky this morning."

"Hmpf. If you must know, woman, I am going to get that horrendous liquid you call 'coffee'".

She smiled, "That sounds good. I think I'll join you."

Following him to the kitchen, she noticed how tense his muscles were, especially in his back. 'Wait, why am I even looking at his muscles, let alone how tense they are?' She pondered, feeling a fluttery feeling form in her stomach. She barely recalled the last time she had been with a guy, which had obviously been Yamcha, and was beginning to feel the loneliness already. It had only been a week since she left the poor guy. But then she remembered how she left: he had tried to be with her. Something twisted inside of her at the memory, knowing that it would've been wrong for some reason, but she couldn't put a finger on it.

She watched as he prepared the coffee that he had called 'horrendous'. She felt herself smile at the irony, her eyes following his every move as he accurately measured the powder with pure focus, and his hands maneuvering about with fervent deliberation. Catching herself, she faltered internally. 'Bulma, what the hell is wrong with you? We NOT here for romance, especially with some total stranger in an even stranger house', her conscious berated.

But he wasn't a stranger to her, at least, not anymore. He had shown her the most important part of her life, the very core of her childhood which still remained a vast mystery in her mind. To her, he was the key to filling the dark void that had been inside her since she could remember. However, in that moment Bulma realized there was a little bit more to him than just that. She noticed the way his hands moved, with such careful tenderness, and the sculpted muscles in his toned body. She couldn't help but trace the lines and scars on his olive-toned skin, and would never be able to ignore the penetrating gaze of his ebony orbs.

And if she calculated the unwavering fluttering in her stomach as she summed these sensations together, she would have to conclude that she indeed had a crush on the sullen Prince.

"Hasn't anyone taught you that it is impolite to stare, woman?" Came the inevitable growl that broke her of her thoughts. She jumped, as if he had heard or sensed all of her infatuated thoughts. Swallowing hard, she went over to him and, with shaky hands of course, picked up her cup of coffee that he'd had ready so quickly. Or was she thinking for that long?

Unfortunately, her hands were so shaky in his presence after her prior realization that she'd sent coffee splattering everywhere- including Vegeta.

"What in the- Woman, must you be so clumsy?"

She watched in wide-eyed horror at the stained shirt in complete disbelief that she had created the most cliche of situations. 'Next he has to take off his shirt and then it gets _really_ tense... It's almost like I subconsciously did this on purpose or something!'

"Uh-um.. Sorry?" She pulled her lips back in a grimace, grabbing the nearest towel and hastily rubbing at his stomach, marvelling at the hard abdominal structure he possessed. Then she stopped her ministrations when she felt his two hands rest on her wrist. She looked up into two onyx orbs, a tinge of heat flushing through them and through her own cheeks in a crimson blanket of humiliation and tension.

"I got it, woman." He muttered in a low, soft tone which was probably the softest she'd heard him speak in a long time.

"B-But it must burn! I mean, I'm just- I'm sorry I'm such a clutz sometimes..." Bulma shook her head, her eyes on the floor in an exasperated shame, not seeing Vegeta's peer remaining on her.

"It's quite alright. I'm used to being the one maintaining this place- and my clothes, thank you."

She side-glanced at him, a smile peaking on her lips. "Well, I'll make the next batch of coffee then since I ruined this one. Again I'm sor-"

"Hush," He placed a finger on her lips in a swift motion, sending a tingle of electric shock through her body as the velvet tone of his voice sparked a shiver up her spine, "Do not fret. Just make more coffee, woman."

With that, he vanished past her without allowing her the chance to even comprehend what he had just done, leaving her in the throes of the revelation that she was absolutely, irrevocably attracted to him.

* * *

Ok I think I'll stop there. I know I know, I didn't have them do much in this chapter but the next one is the big one! Thanks SO much to everyone who reviewed. I love getting at least 3 - 4 reviews per chapter, so keep them coming so I can keep this going! I need the extra motivation because I'm swamped with college papers and work haha. Nonetheless, I love writing this story and you guys really make it worth it. Thanks again!

~Jckash03


	11. The Kissing Tree

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I know a lot of you are getting excited for the romance, which is finally here! I've been getting through a bad bout of bronchitis but also going through the dainty stage of romance myself. :) So here's your overdue update!

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

Getting out of the shower, a brief thought went to Vegeta's whereabouts. She had become increasingly aware of the frequency of these thoughts, wondering if it was really just the paranoia of being alone in such a strange house or perhaps something... more?

She took a sharp breath in, not ready for the rush of warmth that ran through her. Hadn't she felt this before, with Yamcha? Perhaps, but perhaps not. She scanned through her memory bank, as vague as it was, and could recall nothing of the sort. That tingle that electrified her skin at the tantalizingly small second of Vegeta's finger on her mouth was nothing she had ever experienced before. It was as if he was awaking her up to a whole new set of feelings never before encountered, just as he claimed she was doing for the mansion itself.

A tinge of guilt struck her, not wanting to move so suddenly away from the familiarity that Yamcha's presence in her life had been. It was a warm blanket of security, protection from the evil wonders this house held. But wait, hadn't she already left that behind? She had been in the house for two weeks now, wasn't it already over? She tried to imagine how hurt Yamcha must be, how alienated he truly was from her life now that she had abandoned their relationship and dull existence in his apartment. But she could not evoke the same powerful feeling of guilt as Vegeta had triggered of ... something. A spark. Just a spark..

'Well, that's all it is. It can't be more. There is simply too much going on for something like that to even work.. Who knows if we'll even make it out alive?' The shuddering thought hit her like a ton of bricks, but she shoved it away, knowing it was unhealthy to even go down that route.

She dried her hair with the thick towel, noting its obviously faded luxurious texture. As she was doing so, she clumsily dropped it on the ground before picking it up to see an elegantly cursive B inscribed in a golden embroidery on the bottom of it. Straightening her body up slowly, it hit her. She _had_ lived in this house. This house was hers.

She truly belonged here.

A set of joyful tears sprang to her eyes, making them glisten in the post-shower humidity of the bathroom. Just then, there was a rap at the door before it opened to reveal Vegeta with a seeking look in his eye.

Upon realizing the woman had just showered and was holding the towel instead of being covered in it, he quickly cast his eyes away to the side with a blushing tinge appearing on his tan cheeks. "I-.. I just came to tell you I will be outside, the forest requires some maintainence now that the seasons are merging."

Blushing intensely, Bulma stammered, "Oh- Okay!"

The door shut quickly, upon Bulma's dismay. Did he see something? And if he did, did he even like it?

'Ugh, Bulma. What ridiculous questions! We're not here for that!' She scolded herself for being so self-conscious around the recently revealed Prince. But she couldn't help it, so much was tied to him that she couldn't keep her focus off of him for much longer than ten minutes.

Getting dressed, she put on a simple sundress that was a dark blue, hugging her curves before flowing to the sides of her knees. She felt it was decent enough outside and something in her felt.. airy. Daring.

Bulma felt brave for once.

Flushing in her newfound confidence, Bulma brushed her growing mane of silken turquoise before taking a quick glance at her face. Before, with Yamcha, she would see such a fatigue in her eyes evident in the set of wrinkles that were making themselves more and more present. To her relief, they were gone. She hadn't worn make-up since she had left Yamcha at his apartment, but now, seeing her rejuvenated reflection, she saw it wasn't necessary.

Despite the lingering cloud of a threatening, supernatural intervention in the house, Bulma still mustered the bold courage that spread itself through her body. She put on her regular pair of boots and went out the door of the house, leaving its gloomy echo behind her.

What she walked into seemed like an entirely new world. An orange sunlight was making itself known on the very edge of spring, colours were sprouting in the bloom of flowers of leaves throughout the trees. Upon reaching a rosebush, she dipped to allow its saccharine scent envelope her nostrils. Peculiar waves of euphoria were washing through Bulma as she looked up with a beaming smile at the beautiful property the outside nature had, so much in contrast to the darkness that the house presented.

With the adrenaline of discovery spread through her, she was conscious of every step forward into the forest, suddenly surrounded by greens and oranges and yellows. She was keeping an ear out for any sign of Vegeta, feeling herself tingle in a strange excitement that went from her toes to her gut in a flutter of butterflies. 'Geez, look at myself. I'm like a young schoolgirl or something!'

She smiled in spite of herself, letting her hand run through the leaves that she was passing ever so swiftly. A cool breeze ran through her wavy, aquamarine tendrils as she closed her eyes and let her hands fall behind her, the whisper of wind running through her like a tidal wave of refreshing, nostalgic air. She had never felt like she could breathe like this in such a long time. The deprivation of such visual and ethereal beauty that nature provided must have been for so long that Bulma was having to rediscover it for herself twenty years later.

And that she did, just before catching the pair of onyx orbs steely cast down upon her. She giggled, seeing Vegeta perched on a high branch of a tall tree that hadn't really bloomed yet. She had a sneaky and hopeful thought that he had been watching her the entire time.

She cocked her head to the side, flirtatiously eying him in a side-glance, "I thought I felt someone watching me."

He scoffed. "Don't kid yourself, woman. Look around you. You are hardly comparable to the sight around you."

Smirking, knowing that the insult was more of a backwards compliment, she grabbed a hold of the first branch of the tree he was on and pulled herself up. She couldn't even remember the last time she had climbed anything, and she felt a surge of a thrilling dare that caused her to even forget about her fall through the window on the second floor. She didn't care. She wanted to be where he was, at the top of everything with the wind blowing past them.

She just wanted to be near him for some reason, as the visions around them were just too much to not be shared somehow.

"Woman!" He barked, a shocked concern etched in his rough features, "What in the hell are you-"

"Shhh! I'm concentrating here Vegeta. If you distract me, I might fall!"

"Well if you do, don't expect me to catch her if I'm way up here you idiotic woman."

She cast him a glaring smirk, "Trust me. I won't let that happen again."

A shadow of guilt ran through his obsidian eyes as his face softened, but he still followed every move she was making with a cautious eagle eye. Finally, she made it to the top branch, her hands grasping onto Vegeta's shoulders in a heated touch that nearly smoldered her body with its warmth. She took a breath in, hoping he thought she was simply out of breath. She balanced herself on the high branch of the tree, feeling his hands wrap themselves around her legs. Holding in a surprised gasp, she inwardly thanked Kami that she had shaved her legs in her shower.

"Hm. Don't worry woman, it's only to keep you from falling to your untimely death. That isn't a mess I want to have to clean up."

She didn't say anything as she allowed a smile to betray her lips. She finally raised her eyes up to see the beautiful sight before them, the tops of trees and the many animals adorning them like ornaments on a Christmas tree befalling her vision. She was enraptured by the sunlight showering through the many branches and leaves, leaving little shapes of shade and sunlight on the leave piles left by winter. Feeling Vegeta behind her made it that much more enchanted her, as if this moment was written in the stars for her.

"Wow.. I never knew it was so pretty out here. Did you?"

He shook his head, his eyes were vacant but she could tell he was feeling the same. She blinked as her eyes remained on him.

"Woman, this is all your doing, if you must know. Now get down. I'm done holding you here."

"Are you sure about that?" She asked in a husky tone, a sparkle in her eye. Then a shadow passed through her peripheral vision. She looked up to see one of the window of her house holding the very sight of Frieza, who was eerily smirking at the two of them with a reddish hue in his evil glare. Bulma screamed and stepped back away from the window, causing her to lose balance. Vegeta felt his hands grab for her in a quick reflex, but it was too late. Vegeta felt his world collide with reality as he saw her plummet for a mere second before she expertly caught onto a lower branch.

"Wait! Stay right there!" He yelled, getting down to her branch. Her eyes were so panic-stricken, even more excruciating for Vegeta than when he saw that same luck before her fall into the snow over winter. Feeling nothing but the adrenaline-laced duty to get to her, he got to a lower branch than her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. "Now hold on!"

"Wait, what-?"

Before she could even ask, Vegeta catapulted off of the tree, twisting his body so that it was his that reached the ground first. Falling twenty feet off of a tree purposely had not been on Vegeta's mind that day, but luckily there was a huge pile of leaves for him to fall on as her body followed and fell on his with her back on his stomach. He felt the air pushed out of him from the impact of his body, but it returned soon after.

Bulma sat up, "What in the world was that, Vegeta? You could have killed yourself doing that stunt!"

"Oh and you're one to talk! You put us both in that predicament in the first place."

"Yeah? Well I can't help that I haven't even seen any of this before, let alone breathe it all in like you get to!"

He sighed, "Look, just don't do it again. Think before you act for once, woman."

He turned his back to her, his eyes looking out into the mountains that were behind the house. Bulma felt a wave of guilt run through her. He had just saved her life, how could she be mad at him for risking his own?

"Thank you."

He turned, surprise in his dark eyes. "For what?"

"For saving my life." She returned in a low voice, laced with an emotion that neither could identify.

"Hm," He turned away again to stare off, "The house needs you."

Her eyes fell to the ground as she shook her head, remembering his words 'Think before you act', and suddenly she let the impulse come over her, "No, Vegeta..."

She took a step forward, reaching out her hand to pull on his shoulder to face her. He couldn't suppress his shock, the deep heat that formed in him at the sight of her in the bathroom with her own towel returning to taunt him some more as it reached his nether region. Even the touch of her hand on his shoulder was almost too much to bare, something he had never encountered before. Her aquamarine eyes glistened with a searching, heated look that Vegeta would never be able to tear his eyes away from.

"... _I_ need you."

Those words were caught into the still air, sending a surge of something he had never felt before. Needed? Never in his life had he even had much human contact, especially after everything that happened. But for this woman to suddenly appear who was the key to all they had gone through together in a past she barely remembered and then profess a NEED for him? Why, it was preposterous, simply outrageous that she would say such a thing. He felt as if he were being played tricks on again by Frieza, anger engulfing him at not just her but himself for not being able to process what she was saying so simply.

She grew increasingly uncomfortable at his hesitation, but she knew that he would have to take it in slowly. The immense weight of the moment was a lot on the two of them, especially after all they had been through. The confusion of that combined with the confusion of feelings first experienced was enough to send them both to the loony bin. But it was a bit late for that as he gave into his feral instinct, the impulse too strong to resist as he suddenly grabbed her by the waist and locked her lips into the most passionate kiss Bulma had ever received before.

Strong sparks of tingling arousal rose inside of her, her arms slowly reaching around to wrap themselves around his neck as his lips pressed against her with such ferocity that she thought she might faint from the heat building inside of her. When he broke the kiss, she shuddered slightly against him, no longer embarrassed that he saw what he did to her, his eyes intently piercing through the heated glaze of her own. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him before he wrapped her lips with his in yet another kiss that enraptured her entire body.

The entire world seemed to spin around them, neither of them aware of what was occurring between them. Vegeta felt his body stiffen with this little female surrounding him, nothing but the invincible surge of desire engulfing him. But still, after so long of being alone, this new transition was suddenly disconcerting. Out of nowhere, it seemed he had a higher purpose, an actual obligation to fill now, and he felt the small stab of fear strike through the overwhelming waves of warmth between them. He abruptly set her down on her feet and turned away.

Bulma's eyes opened slowly at the absence of Vegeta's kiss and embrace. They filled with confusion as he left her there in the miniature forest, the stillness of the nearly spring air encircling her. Silence fell between them as his back was turned to her. She swallowed slightly, stepping forward with a hand outreached, "Vegeta-"

"Stop it. This... This cannot happen. Not here."

Bulma kept her composure, letting her hand fall to her side before replying softly, "Then where...?"

Letting out a frustrated breath from his nostrils, Vegeta began to stride away from her back into the house. Bulma closed her eyes, her fist clenching. Of course this would happen to her. She had never before felt something so strong, so passionate in her entire life. And now that such a feeling had been evoked within her, it was gone. Just like that.

Sadness overcame her, tears springing to her eyes once again as despair filled her entire self. When would she ever begin to make sense of things? Or even hold onto them? Why was her entire life evading her just as Vegeta was now? It was almost too much. Bulma was just so close to giving up, surrendering to the madness that her circumstances brought her.

But she wouldn't. For the sake of her dead parents. She gulped when she thought of how they would react if she simply moved on, back to Yamcha and her quiet life of never knowing the full truth. Never facing her fears, as Vegeta was now not doing. That was all it was, she realized. Vegeta was just scared. The only person he'd ever had to look after was himself, and for that to change was just too much at once for him.

Wind picked up, the draft lifting the long tendrils of her aquamarine locks. She closed her eyes, the wistful breeze sending waves of nostalgic wonder in their solemn embrace. She felt at home here, in this moment. Even though Vegeta had taken his warmth and the heat of their passionate kiss away, it stayed with her and sent tingles throughout her body. She looked over at the very tree by which they were standing, setting a soft hand on its coarse trunk. That's when she felt it, the inscribed letters.

_Vegeta_.

And underneath it, a capitalized _BULMA. _

There they were, the two of them written onto the very tree by which they shared their first kiss, more than twenty years later. A tearful grin reached her face as her fingers ran over the letters, nearly recalling the very sneering tone of the small boy she had encountered in these very woods.

She closed her eyes, remembering that time so long ago. Never before had she longed for something so strongly as she did to return to that point in time. When she still had parents. When she was still young and in the life she was supposed to have. Now, it seemed she had to pick up where it left off- without the two people in her life that she missed the most and yet knew nothing about.

And that was her challenge. It was her calling.

Feeling a new purpose in her steps, she set out to do just that: to bring them back.

* * *

She went back to the attic, not seeing Vegeta but noticing that his bedroom door was closed. She could see him in her mind's eye, laying there contemplating what had just happened between them. She hoped he wasn't feeling regret, but she knew that it was mostly due to fear that he let go. Still, she held onto the glimmering hope in her that he would come around. She turned to go back into the attic when a stern voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I really hate how I feel like I have to keep a constant eye on you, woman."

Without turning, she briskly replied, "Well, then don't. I can take care of myself, thank you. This is MY house after all."

He scoffed. "We both know that isn't true."

"What isn't? That this is my house or that I can take care of myself?"

"Both."

She spun around, meeting his challenge. "Well, as I recall the only spill I had came from your hands."

His expression fell dark, "You're never going to let that go, are you-"

"Not if you keep insisting that it's me who puts myself in danger."

"Hm. But I'm also the one who keeps you out of it. I didn't get this broken arm from myself."

"Well, neither did I when I had one."

"Touche, woman."

He turned, a solemn expression on his face sending echoes of guilt through her, "Wait."

He stopped, cocking his ear to the side without looking back at her.

Her eyes hesitantly flickered from the back of his upright, spiked hair to the floor, "I don't regret anything."

"Such as..?"

"What happened. Out there. Or coming here, to this house. Or you. You know, without Frieza coming here, my parents would still be alive. But without him, there would be no you."

He kept still, processing every word.

"What I'm trying to say is, despite the circumstances... I'm thankful for you being here. To guide me. But I don't need you, per se. I may not have the strength it requires to keep Frieza at bay, but I promise you that from here on out I can do this myself."

"Then why did you say it? Outside? Why say those words to me?" He demanded, turning to face her as if she had just slapped him in the face. She was dumbstruck at his response, thinking she had said what he wanted to hear.

"I.. I said I needed you because you're all I have left, Vegeta. You're my last key to my past. But if that's too much for you to handle, then forget it. I can do this alone if I have to. But I'm telling you I have the will to, and that is ALL I need."

"You know, I actually do have nothing left. My empire has been destroyed as well as my parents. I do not have a house to return to nor do I have much of a chance to avenge them. I've waited for twenty years, pondering my empty existence, and for what? For some woman to show up and claim that the very place I've been occupying and maintaining is her own? And that I am an unnecessary accessory to her past, of which I'm not even responsible for?"

"Vegeta, I didn't say that-"

"Save it, woman. You didn't have to."

"You are twisting all of my words so that you can confirm your own fears of not being good enough. You weren't good enough to protect your parents and now you think you're not good enough to protect me. Just stop it! You've done so much already..."

His eyes grew wide at her revealing proclamations before falling to the floor, shame etched in his dark features. The sun was setting already and the house was growing in its blue hue of dusk. A pregnant silence rose between, broken by Bulma's husky tone.

"Tell me.. Do you regret it? Outside, I mean."

Her words spiraled in his head, the intoxicating aroma of her increasing arousal wafting through his nostrils and he couldn't take it anymore. Everything she had said spilled right through to his very core, and he could only feel himself lunge forward, the words "I regret nothing" croaking from his mouth in a deep, heated tone as he once again claimed her mouth with his and grabbed her by the waist to pull her lithe body to his.

* * *

I know. I'm horrible. Leaving you guys stranded. But I promise, there is way more to come! I smell lemons...

~Jckash03


	12. Nightmares

Okayyy it's time for some more BV! Heheh I know things got heated up last chapter and we're gonna revvvvv it up even more in this one. Strap your seatbelts, you all are in for a bumpy ride courtesy of my braincells and lack of anything better to do! Haha. Joke. Yeah so anyway, moving on...

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

Bulma felt his strong arms wrap around her curvy waist when suddenly a deep rumble was heard below the floor. They both froze, their eyes piercing each other's so intently that Bulma thought she would sink into his obsidian orbs. But instead, the rumbling stopped. Vegeta looked around, his eyes narrowly scanning their surroundings for any visual threat or source of the noise. Nothing. So his testosterone resumed its rapid increase to his brain and nether region, taking over him like a drug as he swooped back in for another tantalizingly seductive kiss.

Again, more rumbling, but it didn't stop Vegeta and Bulma as their lips caressing intensified, building into a full-blown tongue war that sent both of them reeling with sexual desire. The rumble of the floors pesisted and even grew louder as they kiss deepened. Next thing they knew, the entire house was quaking around them, walls shaking, portrait frames braking, and windows cracking right down the middle. Vegeta hoisted Bulma up onto his hips as she wrapped her toned legs around him, keeping herself up using her quadriceps.

They continued to wrestle each other's mouths as parts of the ceiling crumbled all around them, Vegeta instinctively maneuvering the two of them to avoid the falling debris. He then decided the route to his bedroom was the best destination, both of them so enveloped in their sexual rendezvous that they couldn't even fathom stopping. Simply put, they had reached the point of no return. Vegeta finally halted his perpetual tendency to question and berate himself, letting his sexually deprived impulses take over him. He was enraptured by the fire this little female had evoked in him, caressing every inch of her silken body as it lay nude beneath him.

He used his lips to draw a trail of heated kisses down her naked torso, licking and nipping at the pink nipples that were already erect and awaiting his mouth. He heard the soft purring moan escape Bulma's lips, which catapulted his already stubborn erection. The house was still shattering, but it only served to surge the wave of arousal between the two with their already electric chemistry.

Bulma allowed her hands to reached down and travel through the upright tendrils of Vegeta's onyx mane as his face dove into her moist mound. She cried out at an instant when his tongue made its first torturous lap at her peeking clitoris. She couldn't help but feel that climbing sensation of orgasmic waves overcome her, taking away all control of her senses and logic. He was simply blowing her mind away at the same time as he blew on her precious pearl.

She felt herself trembling to an approaching climax when he inserted two of his broad fingers inside of her, all the while sucking on her moist core.

"V-Vegeta... I'm going to-"

"No. Not without me in you, you're not."

She tried her best to hold it in, but she pleasingly failed, releasing her juices all over Vegeta's hand. He sent her a devilish glare, "Well now I must punish you, you naughty bitch."

A gasp escaped her as he instantly plunged into her, his length so much more endowed than Yamcha ever was. Her back arched in seconds, feeling nothing but the silver streaks of pleasure that Vegeta was sending through her as he thrust in and out. He teased her a little, letting his fingers flutter around her clitoris, causing her to cry out as she felt yet another orgasm approach. The two were already causing the bed to follow their movements back and forth, ignoring the house as it quaked on and glasses shattered while the two felt a powerful, ethereal climax wash over them.

Bulma clung to the dark Prince, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she felt delirious with such remarkable pleasure. She had never felt something like it before. She felt ultimately close to Vegeta, so connected with him in that moment that she even thought she felt something close to love.

"Vegeta..."

He cleared his throat, rocking them back and forth as Bulma was still on him with her legs wrap around him, both sitting up facing each other now, "Yes...?"

"I love you."

He said nothing, simply ducked his head down onto her neck and bit down, claiming his territory. He knew from the second those words were utter that the concept of love was something he was too unfamiliar with to recognize.. But he still proceeded to respond with his neck bite, not sensing the utter disappointment that swarmed through Bulma's chest.

"Well, I'm tired. I'm going to sleep now," Bulma announced in a stoic tone. Vegeta watched her blankly as she got off of him and picked out a nightgown from the closet, laying down on the bed on an opposite side from Vegeta. He knew why she was upset, but there was nothing that could be done about it in that moment. So he accepted her disposition and laid down, still feeling post-coital vibes run through his exhausted body.

* * *

When Bulma awoke, she couldn't help but feel her lips curl into a cheeky grin as she became aware of this soreness inside her. But then, she looked to her right to share the great discovery with the man responsible for his crime of passion only to find he was gone.

There was a vacant, empty space that sent a thrill of anxiety over Bulma. She gasped, hearing a sound at the door.

"Knock, knock..." It was Vegeta's voice with just a slight tine of an echoing shadow beneath it.

"Oh, Vegeta! I was wond-"

The door flew open and there was a hooded figure who instantly appeared before her, pinning her to the bed. His grotesquely burned face was directly in front of her, hardly thought it could spread any arousal though her body from their excessive proximity..

Her gasp was caught by the purple, wrinkled hand that instantaneously covered her mouth as her eyes grew wide and bloodshot with immense fear. He slid out his tongue, reveling in the aroma of her fright, snaking it along in the air merely centimeters from her face. She tried to move her face away, struggling to keep her eyes off of the horrendous sight of his bruised, floppy tongue.

"You are mine..."

As soon as she opened her mouth to scream, he released his hand from its hold on her mouth and replaced it with his grimy, sandpaper tongue-

Lightening flashed. Bulma's eyes flew open like windows in a storm. She found herself facing a full moon that shined onto her body, which was currently entwined with Vegeta's. She felt a sharp jolt in her core when it hit her how close she suddenly was to him. Her eyelashes brushed against his soft, olive skin every time they blinked and batted in the moonlight. Her sparkling, cerulean orbs shone at the moon, a feeling of contentment spreading its warm wings throughout her entire body.

'This... This feels right', Bulma concludes in the long, conflicted war inside of herself that felt guilt over Yamcha and apprehension in pursuing something with Vegeta. She felt as if she were floating on a level of euphoria that she didn't even know existed.

She rose her head up, laying lulling blue eyes on him, soaking his visual intoxication in with a sneaking prowess. Vegeta must have felt her preying stare, opening his eyes widely right away. She jumped slightly, then let out a bursting giggle at herself. Vegeta smirked, doing his best not to break out into a devilish grin. He could feel the contours of her naked body against his under the sheets, causing another rise in his blood pressure.

Then her face dropped, her eyes fading slightly as if she were being pulled backwards. She froze in either deep thought or memory. His features contorted sharply with instant concern. She looked up at him with wide aquamarine orbs filled with a tired fear.

"I had a nightmare, Vegeta", She croaked, her lips red and pouting as she rose her head up, closing her eyes. Vegeta took her head in his hands and brought her forehead to his lips, a kiss that Bulma knew meant protection. A warm blanket of security wrapped itself around her, melting her into his arms.

They laid there together, each pondering the next phase of their lives after the night before. Bulma swallowed audibly, hoping to Kami that it wasn't the horribly recurring cliche of "hit and run". Then she remembered something. She had been investigating something very important before going outside with Vegeta. Pictures, images of a world that she could not remember but wanted so desperately to be a part of. That same desperation was the only motivation she could think of that would urge her to get up off of the warm bed with her newly acquired lover. Sending him a winking smirk, she curled backwards like a cat before leaping off the bed and putting on a thick, white robe that she had discovered in her mother's room.

The pictures she had been gazing at the day before were still lying there on the floor when Bulma picked them up slowly, noticing something different. As soon as she lifted the portrait, it dripped with a thin layer of crimson blood. Gasping, she backed away, dropping it to the floor. All she saw was Frieza's demonic scowl, her parents gruesomely bloodied with her father decapitated and her mother missing body parts and crawling on the ground towards her headless father.

Tears of disgust and horror sprang forth in her eyes as she could hear the demented cackles echo in the attic. She fled, the door shutting itself behind her. Breathless, she spun around to get Vegeta but ran into something hard and screamed out of sheer fright before being gripped on either side.

"Woman! What is it?" Vegeta demanded before looking down at her bloody fingers. His eyes swam with an alien fire as they flickered between her fingers and her red, moist eyes. "Is that yours? Did he hurt you in there-?"

"No... No", Bulma said, regaining her composure, trying to erase the image of her bludgeoned parents out of her mind.

Vegeta straightened, seeming to accept this. He sighed, "Well, I take it there is more of the property for you to see. We didn't get very far yesterday..."

A small smile crept onto her pale face, "We got a little distracted, eh?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes, not wanting to have that conversation right there in that house. No way. He gathered a jacket and his keys, waiting for the woman to change into more of her mother's clothes. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, she walked down the stairs with a sheer, ivory sun dress that matched her skintone beautifully. She seemed to shine in her mother's clothing., albeit it being a bit outdated. He could recall the same, contagious beam in her mother's demeanor. Hiding a building smirk, he opened the door and let her out before following behind. She took a breath of the outside air in, her eyes closing briefly with a wistful reverie.

"Wow, it just feels so much better out here.."

"Agreed."

"So where are you taking me?" She inquired as they made their way down the creaking front steps.

He flashed her a quick grin, "You'll see."

As the pair made their way to the right side of the house, opposite side of the forest, they failed to see the red Corvette pull into the driveway and Yamcha getting out to confront his ex-girlfriend and her recent departure.

Little did he know who he would truly be confronting.

* * *

Ok. Yes, a little short. Soooo sorry this took forever to get out. But hey, at least I got it here and we've seemed to reach a plateau in the story. Muahaha. Much more exciting thrill to come! Every review I get helps to remind me that I have fans to be loyal to, so please give me your feedback, good or bad. I can take it all, baby.

~Jckash03


	13. Candles

Wow... just wow. Thank you guys for the huge influx of reviews. I am forever grateful! As dramatic as that sounds. Haha.

And here's your early installment of Butterflies...

By the way, special shout out to the reviewer who referenced the love scene between Spike and Buffy! Exactly what I was going for! Thanks for your review. :)

'-thinking

"-speaking

* * *

"Vegeta, I thought I heard something. Back at the hou-"

"No. It's probably realizing we have left. It will soon send its cronies..."

"What? Cronies?" Bulma shrieked, her face contorting in sheer fright. Vegeta scoffed.

"Oh please. It's nothing a couple of punches would put out. I've had my fill of them since I've been here most of my life."

Bulma held her breath. Was he actually telling her something about him?

"I would have gone crazy if I'd stayed in that house until now. I had to venture, for if I hadn't.. I doubt my sanity would have withstood the horrific perils that house has to offer its patrons..."

"Vegeta, why didn't you leave?"

He stopped.

"Like, really leave and just put it behind you?"

Her voice, soft as a rose petal falling into his ears as heavy as a boulder inside of him, the one he had tried to ignore all this time. The truth, his darkest secret, wrapped around his heart until it squoze all of the guilt of keeping it from her. She needed to know, she deserved to... She was sacrificing her entire life, not just for her sake, but his too.

And it was this realization alone that caused his lips to part, and his mouth to speak...

"There is... a curse."

Her eyebrows instantly etched together, her hand flying to her heart, "A curse?"

"The butler, Frieza, he has always been a master of evil wizardry. As soon as he realized how much my family made, he put a curse on them that entertwined his existence with my bloodline. If any member of my family existed, he would always haunt them until they died of fear or suicide. And his wrath is sure to come out now..."

"Why...?" Bulma asked, caution evident in her strained, bell-tone voice.

He turned to face her with a peculiar sort of pride, his onyx orbs piercing hers as his unforgettable words echoed through her tenfold, "Because we copulated, woman. He sees it as a threat."

"A threat?" She asked breathlessly, arousal sweeping through her entire body.

"As if I am attempting to create an heir to claim the fortune he so covets."

She looked away, her hand falling from her chest to her stomach. Her chest seemed to rise a hundred feet before she found oxygen, "And have you?"

"If there is someone on the other side of this bastard...A true Kami... Then I have."

Bulma felt faint, suddenly. It was as if her world had suddenly created itself. It was almost too much as dizziness set in and she fell back a little. She felt something beating against her subconscious, a voice trying to demand something of her...

"That baby's existence will NOT be tolerated... It is a dirty half-breed... I will smash it myself you ingrate slut!"

"No..."

"Damn, woman! Why must you faint now, when the cronies are almost here?"

"Hahaha! But first... It will be your ex-fiance, Yamcha. You do realize he stopped by for a visit now don't you? It's alright, by the time you two inbreds return, it will be as if he was never HERE! Ha..."

"NO! What?"

"No? Woman-"

"Y-Yamcha.. Oh Kami-"

"Who is Yamcha?"

"He's in the house, oh Kami, he's in the house-"

A growl stopped her in her sentence's tracks, the sound of branches snapping behind Vegeta echoing in the dark forest.

"They're here."

* * *

Yamcha faced forward into the darkness with a noisy gulp and wide, dry eyes. He expected something to crash, or at least make a noise, for him to look over at but nothing happened. Nothing. The entire atmosphere was filled with nothingness. He reached out to thin air, feeling nothing. Was he a ghost? How could he be a ghost in an old house like this?

Shaking the disturbing thoughts, he ventured forward into the dim hallway with an outreached arm. Suddenly, a hand appeared and ran right through his with a gust of air sounding through the hallway. Yamcha gasped, a sweltering heatwave washing over him. His forehead pulsed with sweat and his eyeballs pulsed with blood and apprehension. He gulped again, hearing the sound echo throughout the house. Why was it so loud in here?

For what felt like an hour, Yamcha kept nearing the staircase, his neck stretched out as his gaping eyes glued themselves to the top of the stairs. His clammy hand gripped the dusty rail at the side of the stairs, his body tensing as if it were trying to keep him from taking the inevitably creaking step. The creaking reverberated through the house, echoing through his ears as if played on a loud speaker. He froze. Did anyone hear it? Did anyone know he was there?

Then he felt as if he were being watched. After turning his head only a few centimeters, a loud bang sounded from the kitchen followed by an array of glasses breaking. He shot up the stairs as if it were the only place he would be safe. Once up there, the sounds stopped. But then he noticed something even more peculiar as his heart pounded right through his chest.

There were no doors.

Only one, and it was glowing red. He felt something strange looming around him, something dark and thick that couldn't be penetrated. Swallowing his adrenaline down, he tried to minimize the fear that was stabbing through his conscious. 'Come on, this is ridiculous. It's just an old house. Maybe she's in there.'

Taking in a breath and remembering his long lost love, he mustered the courage to go towards the door. He laid a hand on it, feeling its intense warmth. He tried to move his ear next to it to pick up any carrying noises from the room, but he heard nothing. Suddenly he felt a searing pain through his ear, as if the door had literally burned him! What was going on here? Was she in trouble, in a fire or something?

"That's it- Bulma! Bulma, I'm coming in there! Alright-?"

The door slammed open, bringing him through the door and right into the floorboards. He coughed, the wind having been knocked out of his chest from falling face forward onto the floor. Still sputtering, he slowly lifted a head up to see a bed in front of him, bright red candles burning all along the walls. He lifted himself up slowly, raising a head over the bed to see two gleaming bright red eyes staring at him from underneath light blue locks of silken, curly hair.

_"Hello, Yamcha..."_

"B-Bulma..? Wh-"

There she was, clad in black lingerie that exposed the curve of her breasts with a lacy bra, matching panties, and sheer thigh highs held up by a garter belt. Lying next to her was a tan, sculpted man with spiky black hair with nothing on except Bulma's legs that were rubbing up his own. He sent Yamcha a smirk, growling at him as he nuzzled into Bulma's neck. The two grinded and pulsated next to each other, making Yamcha burn with a rage he had never felt before.

"Is this what you've been doing?" He screamed, his voice high-pitched and squeaky, "Thi-This is your journalist assignment?"

_"Absolutely.. Will you join us, Yamcha?"_

His face contorted with a vile disgust, his hands gripping themselves in fists, "I will NOT let you do this, Bulma. You can't do this to me, I won't let you!"

_"Oh my.. Looks like someone's a little upset," _taunted Vegeta in Bulma's ear before she let out an evil giggle.

_"We can fix that, can't we darling?" _Bulma suggested seductively, reaching her arm under Vegeta's face and pulling him in for a slow, sensual lock of their hungry lips. Yamcha felt nausea creep up his chest at the sexual display.

"How, Bulma? I would love to know," Yamcha said, his eyes closed and hands on his hips.

_"It's simple, idiot. You either join us... "_

_"... Or die," _Bulma finished for Vegeta in a sugary sweet tone of voice, licking her lips at Yamcha suggestively, sending shivers up his spine.

"Um.. Uh-, what?"

"You heard her, Yamcha. Get in bed with them or ... I'll have to take care of you, myself."

The chillingly feminine voice made Yamcha pale as a pale lizard revealed itself from the shadows of the dim, candlelit room. He felt his bladder release itself in sheer fright of the real threat before him, his mind cleared of anything except getting the hell out of there. He spun, nearly tripping to the door but the scalding hot doorknob made sure to scar his hands. He gripped it in screaming pain, smoke rising from his burnt hand.

"There is no escape, you filthy human. Just for that, and for allowing your whore fiance to mix blood with my Prince... You die."

Yamcha's wailing "No" was drowned out as the room spun around him for what seemed like ages. Nothing but the lizard, Bulma, and Vegeta was in his mind's eye for an eternity. Finally, the rollercoaster in his tortured mind ended, and the last thing he saw was the woman he loved with a man he had never even known about.

* * *

Hehe. I made it short so I could upload it faster. Love you guys! Keep up the feedback and I keep up the influx! :)

~Jckash03


	14. Searing Tears

The molten creatures crept closer as they each apparoached the couple from the moldy swamp behind them. They eyes burned crimson red with bkood bleaking from them, ghosts from a past that neither of them could fathom. Bulma shrieked as one of them swiped at her foot before Vegeta growled and lunged for him, grabbing its neck in a wring before snapping it and watching the ghoul collapse back into the swamp.

Bulma laid there, terrified stiff. She felt her bladder release itself through her panties and across her thighs. Vegeta smelled it, but didn't care as he swept her up into his arms and ran for it across the lawn. Bulma whispered nder breath, "Kami, save us.. Save us..."

Apparently it worked, because the two of them were inside the house in no time. Each out of breath, they grasp each other, breathing heavily in the steel silence of the house. Exhaustion filled Bulma's body as she leaned against her Prince, stealing a moment of comfort before a loud racket interrupted it.

"What was that?" She squealed, her eyes wide with fright and adrenaline. Vegeta cast a concerned glance at her before retorting,

"Woman, if you don't settle down you'll get us both killed!"

She closed her eyes, taking in his warning as he released her and began up the steps. She followed close behind him, her eyes searching for any sign of the horrible demon butler named Frieza. So far, there was nothing. That is, unti lthey made it up the stairs and saw Yamcha's body in a heap before an empty space in the wall..

"Oh Kami! Yamcha! What in the hell were you even doing here?" Bulma cursed out loud as she fell to the floor, tears filling her eyes as Vegeta watched, his eyes stoic as he kept watching over their surroundings.

"He's here.."

"What..?"

"Yes, Frieza is here. Make no doubt about it-"

A loud crash sounded from downstairs, a child's high pitched scream alarming the house before Bulma starting to shake with fear. She could feel something tremble deep within her, a climactic doom that lingered there in her heart. Wincing, she covered her ears and closed her eyes.

"There's going to be more zombies if we don't figure out something quick, Bulma." Vegeta commanded, his voice hard and stern like a rock. She felt protected and safe, like a candle against the wind under an umbrella. But she still couldn't relax from the inner turmoil that were her senses. She shivered in anticipation before the windows began to crack open, each one splintering in the middle.

Suddenly, it went completely dark. Bulma fell silent, trying to feel for Vegeta, but there was nothing but cold absence. A cold sweat formed on her forehead, fear pricking at her insides as she tried to slow her breathing.

_"Hello, little one."_

The throaty voice startled her, making her jump in the dark before she felt dry, chafed fingers slide up her arm. She shrieked, trying to get away from the touch but then she was grabbed hold of by somoene and then she fell backwards into a bright, white light.

Then it began, she remembered everything,

The fresh, white linens of the pressed bed sheets in the morning as she woke up in a stream of sunlight pouring from the windows, which held an unusual sight of slick, morning dew. The handheld mirror she saw her mother use when she was aplyinh a red rouge onto her luscious lips. The smell of a vanilla musk that sent her reeling with nostalgia for warm nights in front of the giant, marble fireplace. The soft murmur of her father's voice when she was frightened of a nightmare. The sweet scent of her mother's hair as she cried her tears onto its silky, blonde strands. Then, the butler.

And the boy.

The dark boy who had teased her slightly, yet held this magnetic presence around her, always watching her like she was a creature in a cage. She felt a little intimidated by his silver stare, but she proceeded anyway with her toys or her dolls. She was simply doing what she always did. Existed. Happily.

Then things grew dark. The faces of her parents and Vegeta melted before her in ghastly detail. She heard herself scream in a far distant echo, like a forgotten memory of horror and beauty. She felt like a wiether rose, once beautifully red and now forever crimson with blood. Blood. Everywhere. All over her. She screamed, blood leaking from the contours of her lips like a lovelorn vampire. She ripped at her body with her nails, tearing her skin until she lacerated through the skin tissue. She felt the burn of new skin and liquid butshe didn't care. She was burning from the inside out and she didn't understand why.

Then she saw him.

Frieza.

"Hello, little one. I told you I'd see you again."

She stopped breathing, the blood had long since disappeared. Looking up at his own burned body, she contorted her face into a loathing disgust.

"Oh, what's the matter? You're too pretty for me now?"

"Oh shut up, Frieza. You never had me, and you never WILL!"

"IS that so? Well then. Let's get to it, shall we?"

The next thing Bulma knew was handcuffs linking her wrists to chains on the wall and a steel paintbrush in her right hand.

"You will paint for me!... a pretty picture.. With your own blood."

She felt the paintbrush get pushed into her chest, taking all the wind out of her. Choking, she sputtered in surprise and then Frieza graciously took it out in a brutally slow motion.

"How was that?"

Bulma's head dropped as she began to lose conscious from how much blood was seeping from her open wound.

"I'll take that as good. Now, PAINT!"

* * *

Vegeta stood there in shock. The woman had long since collapsed and laud there in complete surrender. Vegeta mistook Bulma for being dead. He grabbed her and pulled her seemingly lifeless into his arms, feeling a strange pressure in his aching chest as he did so. He looked at the woman, who was once a young girl such a long time ago..

He was in love with her.

No.. it iddn't seem possible, nor real, but it was. He took an oath, there with her body on the floor of the mansion hall in front of the second attuc, to always protect her, through thick and thin. He caressed the side of her porcelain face, wondering how in the hell this enigma of a creature could hav stolen his heart so quickly.

Nonetheless, he still had no idea what to do with her. The house creaked in its usual grunt, but it seemed deeper somehow. As if it were ready to crumble in two. When he notice little showers of dust spraying over them, he decided it was a good time to go. He clutched Bulma's body to his as he drapped er arm over his neck and lunged for the stairs, the two of them rolling down it like a couple of drunk teenagers in love.

This was not the case, however, as Bulma's head hit the the wooden floor by the house door. "Shit," muttered the Prince as he cupped the back of her head, kising her forehead quickly before gathering her up into his arms cradle style and striding ou of the building with gusto.

Just as Vegeta made his first step onto the grassy ground, the entire house burst into flames.

* * *

Bulma felt herself float upwards into a reverie of sheer delight, overwhelmed by the way her body was swept off into he throes of ecstasy as she saw red filling the spaces around her. Then, she frowned, as i shook. The place was falling and she couldn't paint anymore. What? What was happening? Why was she even here in the first place?

"No! I'm not going to do this-"

"You WILL obey me!" Frieza said, liungin for her and picking her up as she struggled to get free. She gasped and sputtered with her attempts all in vain, but then with the pain and the heartache and Vegeta all coming in at once- she couldn't help it. She started to cry, and a teardrop fell from her eyelash to Frieza's charred face.

The searing, burning pain that occurred in Frieza's face was a smoking hot mess of green goo and purple blood. Bulma felt the bile rise up to her throat as she relieved herself off into the corner of the white innerspaces of their minds.

"AHHHH what have you done?" Frieza cried out before being reduced to nothing but a pile of ash right before Bulma's wide eyes.

All she could do was let out a shaky breath and collapse to the floor.

* * *

Ooookay. I'll stop there kiddies, Hehehe. :) Hope you enjoyed it and I can't wait for the finale!

MUAHAH.

This WILL be finished by the end of THIS year. Yes, it willl. So say goodbye soon.

~Jckash03


	15. A Fearful Finale

The next few days, all it did was rain. It was as if a giant spider that had been lurking in the corner of their dark minds had been stomped on, trampled, and killed- once and for all.

Or so they thought.

Vegeta found her lying, cold and wet with lines of blood draped over her lithe, pale body at the foot of the stairs as he panicked frantically searching for her. He instantly picked her up in his arms, took her to the bathroom and drew a warm bath for her shivering body. She was barely awake, or even aware, of his presence or what he was doing. He felt so peculiar, caring for someone else. But he knew, he could feel, the lack of Frieza's presence in the once haunted house.

As she sat in the warm water, still in her clothes, she began to awaken. Her memory was absent and so was her personality, but Vegeta was certain she had undergone a traumatic experience with the horrible villain that had once reigned over their entire lives and families.

Sunlight began to shimmer through the windows, marking the onset of dawn. Vegeta was used to losing sleep, so he stayed there. He stayed until she suddenly gasped, her bright blue eyes opening with a kind of panic as her mouth cried out, "Vegeta!"

"What?" He questioned, slowly creeping near her as her chest began to rise and fall in sharp, rapid spurts. Her shoulders shook slightly and developed a blanket of goosebumps. He slowly released a hand towards her, allowing his fingers to caress the cold, wet flesh. Then she stopped shaking. She stopped everything, freezing as if someone had put a gun to the side of her temple. As if in slow motion, she turned to gaze at him from the side, her eyes wide with fear and wonder.

"Vegeta... Is he-...?"

All he could do was nod before she leapt from the tub and onto his body, drenching him with water as she claimed his lips with hers. The two rolled on the floor of the bathroom, feeling their bodies awaken from the sullen storm of fear, chaos, and panic in the turbulent house. Bulma let out a string of giggles as Vegeta dipped his head between her breasts, licking at the slick skin of her cleavage. They felt so alive, so entertwined with each other in the bathroom, dimly lit by the soft, golden rays of dawn's sunlight.

So they made love. For hours, they occupied themselves with each other's body to release the horrid tension of the last couple months. Vegeta clawed at her soft, porcelain skin as Bulma ground her teeth in sheer pleasure, trying to keep her thunderous moaning to a minimum. Needless to say, she failed eventually.

The house was quiet and illuminated. There were no more sudden noises, flashes of dead people, or walking zombies in the back yard. Bulma slept soundlessly, restfully, and Vegeta watched over her, memorizing every line and every curve on her youthful, beautiful face. He felt as if nothing had ever happened, that it had all been a dream- a nightmare, rather- and that he had just simply woken up to find her at the foot of the stairs.

He remembered very foggily the past where he was willing to hurt her to keep her safe. Nowadays, he couldn't keep his hands off of her but he cringed at the very thought of her even feeling pain. He wished nothing more than to be the one to kill the bastard, but he knew it had to be her. He knew since it was her house and her beginnings...

"Vegeta..." She chirped one night later that week, her eyes shining with a curiosity he knew all too well.

"Yes?" He rose an eyebrow. Smiling, she cocked her head to the side. Always her start to asking a question.

"So.. Let me get this straight. My parents die in a huge fire but that asshole gets burned too."

"Correction, woman: He was killed."

"Okay, so he was like, haunting my house... No one could find me so they presumed me dead. And then what?"

Vegeta looked away. "Woman, why don't you for once tell me what you remember?"

She was taken back. "What I remember?"

"Yes. Precisely what you recall from your first memory to now."

She paused. What did she remember? Her memory had only built back up so much since her showdown with Frieza.

"Well.. I guess I was in an orphanage. They let me go at a certain age and then I met Yamcha. I found a job going from house to house, looking-"

"Looking for what?"

She stopped. What had she been looking for all this time? House after house, building after building, history after history... Was she just looking for her own?

"Well they- my editors- wanted me to find something that was in such a bad condition that you couldn't live in it... They wanted to replenish it to make money. Or so they said."

"Do you realize there is merely zero coincidence here...?"

Her eyebrows burrowed slightly, "What do you mean?"

"Your presence here unlocked this house just as it unlocked you. But your journey here has been planned from the start. Have you not realized this?"

She let out a hearty laugh, "Vegeta, what are you saying? That someone sent me here deliberately?"

He nodded. She rolled her eyes.

"Like who?"

He shrugged, "I do not know. It could have been Frieza for all I know. Or maybe, just maybe..."

She stopped. And so did her heart.

"Perhaps there was some divine intervention that lead you back here to me."

Her eyes closed wistfully for a second as she let it in, taking a big breath and exhaling through her nostrils. Could her parents have really guided her this entire time, as well as her undying love and connection to them?

"Perhaps..." She replied softly, leaning in for a kiss from her Prince.

Then, there was white.

* * *

Bulma Augusta Briefs was born on April 23rd, 1943 to Mr. and Mrs. Briefs of the Rojo community. When she was born that day, it rained for hours, cleansing the Earth and the timeline of the evil that had thrust her and Prince Vegeta into each other's fate. She knew of no such evil as she grew into a beautiful child with blue, curly locks that shone in the glimmering sun while she played, and played, and played...

Until one day she was told she was to have a playmate. Prince Vegeta arrived with his two parents of royalty to meet her at her shy five-year-old stage. However, she always played, and always painted.

However, she did not paint for an evil murderer disguised as a butler. She painted flowers and hearts and a very mean looking monster that she wrote the name "Vegeta" under. She painted her mother's face with red lips and dazzling blue eyes.

Prince Vegeta walked through the door that day and time stood still for Bulma Briefs. Adrenaline took over her and her once shy demeanor turned into determination for adventure as she lunged for his hand and took him back out the door to the wood next to the house.

There was one tree in particular she adored and it was in the center of the wood, with all the other trees encircling it like it was the most beautiful tree in all the land. Breathing heavily, Bulma panted up to its blank bark and asked in a cheery voice, "Do ya have a knife?"

Vegeta didn't know what to think. This tiny female had just barely entered his world and suddenly it was as if she became it. He rolled his eyes to try and evade the eerily unfamiliar feelings that were eroding his brain, and reached for his knife in his pocket. The motion made his royal purple cape sway a little.

Bulma released a bell-tone giggle at his expense. Then he took out the knife.

Gasping she backed up against the tree. Would he really use it on her? Gulping she bit her bottom lip, something she always did out of fear. Feeling childish, Bulma could feel the stream of warm urine fall down her legs and into the sand. Holding the knife up in the air, Vegeta watched this, literally feeling her fear and desperation. At once, all the blood in his body ventured south, but as the confusion grow, he grew softer.

She was truly frightened.

He strode forward, reaching her in an instant and stabbed the tree with the knife above her head. She looked up at him, her eyes misting over with unreleased tears. He watched her face for a moment, his being only inches away. He felt a strong sense of Deja Vu come over him, but he ignored it. He felt a lot of things and ignored them. But in that moment, he knew for a logical fact that he could not take his eyes off of hers.

"Do you really believe... I would hurt you?"

She shook slightly, and with Vegeta noticing, he smirked and ripped off his cape to put over her, assuming she was cold.

That's when she closed her eyes, feeling his face come closer to hers in slow motion.

"You're mine..." He whispered on his way to her lips, claiming them for his own. Shivers ran through Bulma's body like electric shocks. She had never felt such a sensation before.

"Bulma! Dinner's ready!"

They both froze. Vegeta backed away, releasing his hands off the cape.

"Looks like you have to go, little one."

Little one. Where had she heard that before? Feeling strange for a moment, as well as very fluttery and confused, she shook her head and sent him a small gaze and a smile. She wanted him to know that she wanted to see him again.

As she ran off, Vegeta looked back at the tree. He went up to it and grabbed his knife, shutting it closed and putting it back in his pocket. With a bold smirk, he knew that somehow he would end up protecting her with it someday.

Or maybe he already had.

In elegant script, he engraved the words, "Vegeta & Bulma" on the tree himself, not wanting to waste any time.

He loved her back...

And so she lived happily ever after.

* * *

Well... Here we are. The End.

Wow. I have to say I am pretty proud of this one. You guys have been excellent reviewers and I am thoroughly grateful for your feedback, opinions, questions, and constant reminders to UPDATE! Anything for you guys! However, I will NOT be doing a sequel to this. But feel free to check out my other fic, Passion and the Prince, a three years cliche attempt at keeping Bulma and Vegeta extremely in character, so check it out! I need reviews for it like this one!

After all, it was a pleasure writing for such a copious audience. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Have a blessed New Year and keep reviewing!

~Jckash03


End file.
